top 


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University  of  California  •  Berkeley 


SILVER-KNIFE; 


OR, 


of 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY 


DR.  Jt  H.rROBINSON 
M 


BOSTON: 
WILLIAM     V.     SPENCER, 

128    WASHINGTON    STREET. 
1854. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1854,  by 

WILLIAM    V.    SPENCES, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  Tistiict  Court  OT  the  I'istric'c  of  Massachusetts. 


STEREOTYPED    BT 

HOBART  &   BOBBINS, 

NEW  ENGLAND   TYPE  AND   STEREOTYPE  FOUNDRY, 
BOSTON. 


PREFATORY   REMARKS'. 


AFTER  I  had  engaged  to  produce  the  following  pages  for  the  pub- 
lishers, I  was  somewhat  at  a  loss  for  materiel.  I  had  never  travelled 
much  in  the  West,  and  had  seen  but  a  very  small  portion  of  that 
country  where  I  wished  to  lay  the  scenes  of  the  work  I  contemplated 
preparing.  I  mentioned  this  fact  to  a  friend. 

"  I  think  I  can  assist  you,"  he  said.  "  I  have  no  materiel  of  my 
own,  although  I  have  travelled  in  the  Indian  country.  We  got 
snagged,  steaming  down  the  Missouri,  and  I  lost  all  my  papers  ;  but  I 
know  a  person  who  has  a  trunk  full  of  the  very  matter  you  need.  He 
is  rather  an  eccentric  individual,  and  whether  he  can  be  induced  to 
part  with  his  literary  treasures,  I  cannot  say.  No  harm  can  be  done, 
however,  by  asking  him,  and  I  will  make  the  experiment." 

I  thanked  my  friend,  and  assured  him  he  could  do  me  no  greater 
favor. 

The  very  next  day,  while,  with  pen  in  hand,  I  sat  puzzling  my 
brains,  my  door  was  opened,  and  a  voluminous  packet  was  laid  on  my 
table  by  a  "  gentleman  from  Africa."  It  proved  to  contain  the  papers 
of  which  my  friend  had  spoken,  and  was  accompanied  by  a  note, 
although  the  writer  was  an  utter  stranger  to  me  : 

"  DEAR  SIR  :  Mr.  L.  has  informed  me  of  the  embarrassment  under, 
which  you  labor  in  preparing  a  work  representing  life  in  the  far  West. 
Do  not  write  fiction,  when  facts  are  so  abundant  and  thrilling.  Life  on 
the  prairies  is  so  varied,  so  full  of  adventure,  so  redolent  of  danger, 
and,  I  may  add,  so  startling,  that  fiction  must  necessarily  fall  short  of 
reality.  I  speak  from  experience. 

"  I'have  been  often  importuned  for  the  materiel  which  I  now  intrust 
to  you  ;  but  have  steadily  refused  to  let  it  go  out  of  my  possession.  I 
part  with  it  on  the  following  conditions  : 

"  All  matters  pertaining  to  my  private  personal  history,  you  shall 
let  alone.  I  do  not  wish  to  go  before  the  public  as  at  hero.  I  never 
liked  notoriety.  Whatever  relates  to  the  geography  and  history  of  the 
country,  together  with  the  habits,  manners  and  customs,  of  the  differ- 
ent tribes,  and  my  adventures  with  them,  are  yours.  I  will  not  stop 
to  assure  you  they  are  facts,  because  I  never  deal  in  fictions. 

"  When  you  have  gleaned  what  you  wish  from  the  mass  of  papers 
you  will  receive  with  this  note,  return  them  to  me. 


M81713 


IV  PREFATORY   REMARKS. 

"  They  accumulated  during  a  lengthy  sojourn  among  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  on  the  Oregon  trail.  They  have  been  my  companions 
for  many  months  of  vicissitude  and  peril.  Not  one  of  them  has  been 
published.  Hoping  they  may  subserve  your  purpose,  I  remain  your 
very  obedient  servant,  J.  T." 

In  five  minutes  after  reading  the  above  note,  I  had  the  papers 
referred  to  scattered  about  my  study,  and  found  myself  abundantly 
supplied  with  just  the  materiel  I  wanted.  The  MSS.  proved,  in  fact, 
memoranda  made  at  ditferent  times  during  a  pilgrimage  of  three  years 
in  the  Indian  country.  But  that  which  interested  me  most  was  the 
writer's  personal  history, —  the  very  thing  he  forbade  me  to  touch, — 
and  I  confess  I  was  vexed  at  his  fastidiousness. 

Why  could  he  not  permit  me  to  use  just  as  much,  or  just  as  little,  of 
his  materiel,  as  I  wished  ?  Again  I  had  recourse  to  my  friend,  and 
stated  the  case  to  him. 

"  I  will  tell  ybu  what  you  shall  do,"  he  said,  after  a  little  reflection  ; 
"  go  on,  and  make  use  of  the  papers  precisely  as  you  would  if  you  had 
received  no  note  with  them.  Before  you  get  the  work  ready  for  publi- 
cation, J.  T.  will  be  on  his  way  to  Europe.  As  soon  as  the  book  is 
published,  I  will  forward  him  a  handsome  copy  of  the  same,  bound  in 
morocco,  with  a  letter,  in  which  I  will  apologize  for  you,  and  take 'all 
the  blame  on  myself.  By  the  time  he  gets  home,  his  anger  will  be 
dissipated." 

Not  without  some  compunctions  of  conscience,  I  adopted  the  advice 
of  S.;  and  the  following  pages  are  the  result.  Whether  a  copy  of  the 
same  in  morocco,  with  the  conciliatory  epistle,  will  appease  the  justly 
excited  indignation  of  J.  T.,  is  a  matter  which  the  future  must  decide. 
.1  have  written  the  tale  of  Silver-Knife  in  the  form  of  an  autobiog- 
raphy, making  the  latter  (J.  T.)  in  some  measure  the  hero  of  the 
story,  using  facts  when  admissible,  and  drawing  upon  the  imagination 
when  necessary. 


NOTE  TO  THE  NEW  EDITION. 

WHILE  writing  the  following  tale,  the  author  did  not  entertain  the 
idea  that  it  would  become  so  popular  with  the  public,  or  meet  with 
such  singular  success.  Several  editions,  in  a  less  readable  form, 
were  sold  with  astonishing  rapidity,  and  the  calls  for  the  work  since 
have  been  so  numerous  and  continued,  that,  after  a  careful  revision 
and  some  important  additions,  Silver-Knife  has  been  reissued  in  its 
present  neat  style. 

Grateful  for  the  uncommon  favor  with  which  this  production  has 
been  received,  the  writer  would  express  his  thankful  acknoAvledgments 
to  the  reader  and  the  good-natured  public. 

BOSTON,  April,  1854. 


SILVER-KNIFE. 


CHAPTER  £.;  i     c  ij  t?,j  i\  •>> 

MY   YOUTH. 

A  >,  A&  oorn  where  the  snows  lie  deep  in  winter,  and  where 
the  winds  blow  cold  from  the  hills  in  summer.  I  was  not  the 
child  of  idleness.  I  gathered  strength  from  exertion,  and  my 
features  were  embrowned  by  exposure  to  the  suns  of  the  vary- 
ing seasons. 

I  dwelt  in  a  mountain  home,  —  faced  the  cold  breath  of 
the  stormy  north,  and  braved  the  blasts  of  icy  winter.  I 
toiled  in  the  field,  and  wore  the  coarse  garments  of  the  simple 
rustic. 

Indolence  could  never  be  reckoned  among  my  sins ;  but  I 
disliked  exceedingly  the  monotonous  life  of  tilling  the  soil. 
My  whole  nature  revolted  at  the  idea  of  wasting  my  youth 
and  manhood  upon  a  few  paternal  acres,  yielding  just  enough 
for  the  actual  wants  of  existence.  My  inclinations  did  not 
flow  in  that  channel ;  for  I  had  marked  out  another  course 
for  myself. 

Every  person  could  delve  in  the  earth  ;  but  there  were  some 
things  which  every  person  could,  not  do  —  which  few  could 
accomplish — deeds  which  required  superior  daring  or  supe- 
rior genius.  I  believed  I  possessed  these  requisites,  and  was 
therefore  fitted  by  nature  to  perform  what  the  great  herd  of 
mankind  could  not.  I  felt  a  proud  and  lofty  satisfaction  in 
nursing-and  encouraging  the  idea. 

Time,  whose  foot   is  tireless,  went  on  his  way,  placing 


6  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

additional  years  upon  my  shoulders,  witnessing  daily  my  in- 
creasing restlessness. 

My  father,  though  indulgent,  was  a  shrewd  man.  He  had 
watched  and  studied  me.  He  knew  I  WAS  unfit  for  my  present 
employment,  and  told  me  so.  I  rejoiced  that  he  had  made  the 
discovery,  hoping  that  it  would  lead  to  my  emancipation  from 
the  farm  ;  and  my  hopes  were  not  unfounded.  He  resolved 
I  should  have  a  profession,  and  very  coolly  informed  me  that 
he  was  about  to  send  me  away  to  study  medicine.  I  was 
sqrpi-ised^aiKi rejoiced  —  rejoiced  that  a  change  was  offered; 
though,  perhaps,  bad  I  been  permitted  a  choice,  I  might  have 
decided  on"  soWethirig  else.  Medicine  I  had  no  great  liking 
for  at' *jhat 'ticao,  refgardirg  all  doctors  as  solemn,  conceited 
(quacl5:£. ,  jt  havs  since  learned  to  love  the  study  of  medicine, 
if  not  the  practice".  My  own  inclinations,  however,  were  not 
consulted.  My  respectable  parent  had  decided  that  I  should 
become  a  physician,  and  he  was  a  man  who  could  not  be  turned 
from  his  purpose  when  once  resolved. 

I  submitted,  of  course;  and  before  a  week  elapsed  my 
name  was  regularly  entered  with  a  physician.  I  pass  over 
the  details  of  my  progress  in  the  healing  art.  I  left  all  com- 
petitors behind,  and  was  soon  as  deep  in  the  mysteries  of 
"  Cullen"  and  "  Wistar  "  as  any  tyro  could  well  be. 

I  will  now  respectfully  ask  the  reader  to  picture  to  him- 
self a  tall,  not  bad-looking  young  man  of  twenty-two,  with  the 
omnipotent  characters,  "  M.D."  comfortably  appended  to  his 
name,  making  it  read  Hartley  Ferguson,  M.D. 

But  this  addition  did  not  seem  to  astonish  the  world  in  the 
least,  and  it  moved  along  as  usual,  insensible,  apparently, 
that  my  importance  had  been  considerably  enhanced. 

About  two  months  after  my  advent  as  a  Doctor  of  Medicine, 
receiving  encouragement  from  a  friend  who  resided  in  that 
portion  of  the  country,  I  went  to  St.  Louis  with  the  intention 
of  pursuing  my  profession. 

It  was  there  that  I  formed  an  acquaintance  with  Baptiste 
Leroy,  a  personage  destined  to  exercise  a.  strong  influence 
upon  my  future  career. 

Picture  to  yourself  a  man  about  six  feet  three  inches  in 
height,  with  eyes  deep-set  and  piercing,  hair,  though  origi- 
nally dark,  plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray,  while  the  sharp 
features  are  wrinkled  and  weather-beaten.  He  has  been  a 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  7 

hunter  and  trapper,  for  the  last  twenty  years,  and  knows 
every  inch  of  the  trail  from  St.  Louis  to  the  head  waters  of 
the  Missouri,  as  well  as  he  knows  his  right  hand.  He  has, 
however,  of  late  years,  acted  frequently  in  the  capacity  of 
"  guide  "  to  parties  of  emigrants  seeking  homes  in  the  far 
West. 

He  is  a  man  well  acquainted  with  danger  and  hardship  of 
every  kind.  He  has  a  family  at  St.  Louis,  and.is  at  present 
recovering  from  the  effects  of  a  wound  received  in  a  foray 
with  a  war  party  of  Sioux.  He  had  been  shot  in  the  leg,  and 
the  ball  had  "never  been  extracted ;  hence  our  acquaintance, 
for  I  was  called  upon  to  treat  his  wound. 

He  bore  the  pain  of  the  operation  without  flinching,  and 
smiled  grimly  when  I  held  up  the  bullet  that  had  given  him 
so  much  trouble. 

"  That  Redskin's  eye  never  '11  run  along  the  sights  again," 
he  said,  coolly. 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  I  asked  as  I  drew  the  lips  of  the  wound 
together,  and  thrust  a  surgeon's  needle  through  the  approxi- 
mated edges.  * 

"  He  's  gone  under,"  he  replied. 

"  What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"Killed,  to  be  sure.  I  reckon  you 's  never  up  in  the 
mountains  ?  " 

"  You  are  right ;  I  never  was.  You  killed  the  fellow, 
then  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  lifted  his  top-knot." 

"  That  is,  you  scalped  him  ?  " 

"  Sartin." 

"  It  strikes  me  scalping  is  a  needless  piece  of  barbarity." 

"  It 's  the  custom  up  there." 

"  And  a  savage  one,  too." 

"  Go  and  live  a  while  on  the  Oregon  trail,  and  see.  When 
you  are  among  the  Romans,  you  must  do  as  the  Romans  do. 
I  'm  a  gettin'  to  be  pretty  considerable  old  now ;  I  've  trapped 
a  good  many  beaver,  and  killed  a  great  many  buffalo, 
and  starved  on  mule-meat  as  long  as  any  other  man,  besides 
rubbing  out  a  sprinklin'  of  Injins,  a<nd  I  reckon  I  know  what 's 
what.  You  've  studied  medicine,  I  take  it ;  and  larnt  to 
dress  cuts,  bruises,  fractures,  and  gun-shot  wounds,  give 
calamy,  and  all  them  sorts  o'  fixin's.  Well,  now,  I  gets  shot 


8  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

by  the  Redskins,  and  employ  you  to  straighten  me  up  ;  but  I 
don't  undertake  to  dictate  to  you  how  it  shall  be  done.  I 
take  it  for  granted  you  know  best.  Don't  you  take  the  force 
of  it  ?  " 

I  acknowledged  that  I  did,  though  by  no  means  convinced 
that  it  was  right  for  white  people  to  imitate  savage  customs. 


CHAPTER    II. 

MADELEINE. 

LEROY'S  wife  was  by.no  means  a  bad-looking  woman.  She 
was  a  half-breed.  He  had  wooed  and  won  her  somewhere 
near  Westport ;  and  "  Madge,"  as  he  honestly  affirmed,  "  had 
made  him  a  good  wife."  • 

She  was  small  in  stature,  with  coal-black  eyes,  expressive 
of  intelligence  and  shrewdness.  She  had  enough  native 
blood  to  lend  her  cheek  a  deeper  blush  than  she  could  well 
have  borrowed  from  her  French  sire.  She  was  now  an  indus- 
trious, sober  matron,  the  mother  of  two  daughters  and  a  son  ; 
the  latter  being  the  eldest,  and  now  a  fine-looking  young  man 
of  nineteen. 

The  daughters  were  called  Madeleine  and  Mary ;  making  it 
appear  that  Leroy  had  a  particular  penchant  for  the  initial 
M.  There  was  only  the  difference  of  a  year  and  a  half  in  the 
ages  of  Madeleine  and  Mary;  the"  latter  being  somewhere  be- 
tween' sixteen  and  seventeen,  and  the  older  of  the  two.  I 
shall  not  be  very  particular  in  describing  them  at  this  time, 
hoping  to  develop  their  characters  as  I  proceed. 

There  was  a  mild,  spiritual  beauty  about  Madeleine,  which 
baffles  my  skill  to  describe.  Quite  tall  in  person,  with  figure 
full  and  symmetrical,  features  artistically  regular,  and  eyes 
dark,  restless  and  flashing,  is  about  all  the  idea  that  can  be 
conveyed  of  her  tout  ensemble. 

Mary  was  of  smaller  stature,  and  of  a  different  style  of 
beauty.  She  had  hazel  eyes,  and  a  calmer  and  meeker  ex- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  9 

pression  than  her  sister.     Her  person  was  faultless  in  propor- 
tion, and  a  fit  model  for  a  sculptor. 

Basil,  the  son,  was  in  every  way  worthy  of  his  father ; 
straight  as  a  reed,  athletic,  and  lithe  as  an  Indian,  with  a 
large  share  of  genuine  good  sense. 

Leroy's  wife  and  daughters  had  lived  in  St.  Louis  for  the 
last  eight  years.  He  had  removed  them  thither  in  order  that 
the  girls  might  have  the  advantages  of  civilization  and  educa- 
tion. This  spoke  favorably  for  the  head  and  heart  of  the 
trapper,  and  proved  him  infinitely  superior  to  many  of  his 
rude  brethren  who  lived  upon  the  trail. 

In  daily  attendance  upon  Leroy,  I  found  much  to  admire  in 
his  character.  I  may  also  add  that  I  was  pleased  with  the 
restless  Madeleine  and  the  placid  Mary. 

I  went  to  St.  Louis  with  but  little  hope  or  expectation  of 
getting  into  practice.  My  father  had  provided  me  liberally 
with  means,  and  I  had  no  present  fears  for  the  future. 

It  is  true  I  took  an  office,  and  put  my  name  on  the  door,  as 
a  physician  and  surgeon  ;  but  I  felt  little  interest  in  the  result. 
My  thoughts  were  tending  another  way. 

I  listened  to  the  glowing  description  of  Leroy.  He  talked 
of  boundless  prairies,  upon  which  the  sun  sets  as  it  sets  upon 
the  sea  ;  of  high  mountains  which  are  eternally  crowned  with 
diadems  of  ice ;  of  ravines  so  deep  that  day  could  scarcely 
light  them ;  of  the  exciting  buffalo-hunt ;  of  steeds  that 
leaped  wide  streams  and  fallen  trees,  and  swam  running 
rivers,  swift  as  the  wind,  and  fearless  of  an  enemy ;  of 
dangers  incredible  ;  of  bloody  struggles  with  the  red  sons  of 
the  forest ;  of  hair-breadth  escapes. 

My  youthful  imagination  took  fire.  I  eould  think  of 
nothing  but  the  Oregon  trail,  and  the  Rocky  Mountains. 
With  regret  I  saw  Leroy  making  preparations  to  leave  St. 
Louis  ;  and  that  regret  was  doubly  enhanced  when  i  learned 
that  his  family  would  accompany  him. 

I  remonstrated  with  him,  and  with  Madge,  on  the  folly  of 
taking  their  children  into  the  savage  wilds  of  the  West.  But 
my  eloquence  was  lost.  They  all  had  enough  of  the  wandering 
blood  in  their  veins  to  make  them  love  the  forest,  and  dare  its 
dangers. 

"I  drew  breath  away  yonder,"  said  Madge,  pointing 
to  the  west,  "  and  the  graves  of  my  friends  are  there.  I 


10  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

have  dwelt  here  for  the  sake  of  my  children ;  but  I  must 
breathe  the  free  mountain  air  again  before  I  die.  It  is  my 
Horeb,  my  '  land  of  Israel,'  where  my  bones  must  be  laid. 
The  skies  are  not  high  enough  here  ;  there  is  not  room  enough  ; 
there  are  no  prairies,  no  mountains,  none  of  my  kindred. 
Leroy  loves  the  trail ;  so  do  I.  I  will  follow  him  to  the  hills 
where  the  graves  of  my  people  are.  I  had  rather  dwell  in 
the  caves  of  the  earth,  or  the  cliffs  of  the  valleys,  with  him, 
than  share  a  palace  here." 

"  But  your  daughters  —  " 

"  The  blood  of  the  mother  circulates  in  their  veins.  Their 
hearts  sigh  for  a  -mountain  home.  The  voice  of  nature  speaks 
to  them,  and  talks  of  the  wild  West.  It  is  to  them  as  Canaan 
was  to  the  children  of  Israel,  the  land  of  promise,  teeming 
with  milk  and  honey ;  and  the  Jordan  that  intervenes  is  a 
mere  brook,  which  they  can  pass  at  a  bound." 

"Is  it  so  ?"  I  asked,  turning  to  Madeleine. 

"  It  is  even  so,"  she  replied.  "  My  Canaan  is  indeed  away 
in  the  West.  I  shall  seek  it,  though  it  may  be  my  lot  will 
prove  worse  than  Hagar's  when  she  despaired  in  the  wilder- 
ness, and  was  ready  to  perish  with  hunger  and  thirst.  Yes, 
I  shall  love  the  mountains,  and  hills,  and  prairies,  and  forests ; 
but  more  than  all  I  shall  love  to  be  where  my  father  is.  The 
blood  that  imparts  this  darkened  blush  to  my  cheeks  has  a 
voice ;  it  whispers  to  me  forever  of  the  free  hills.  As  my 
mother  has  said,  we  have  no  kith  and  kin  here.  No  eye  glad- 
dened our  coming,  and  no  eye  will  weep  for  our  going.  Why, 
then,  should  we  stay,  when  his  home,  and  his  (pointing  to  her 
father  and  brother),  is  beyond  the  '  Big  Blue '  — 

«  Over  the  hills  and  far  away  '  1  " 

I  was,  surprised.  I  had  not  expected  this.  I  had  not 
imagined  that  the  silent  and  timid  girl  cherished  such  thoughts, 
or  that  she  could  clothe  them  in  such  language. 

I  turned  to  the  calm  Mary ;  she  smiled,  and  shrank  from 
my  earnest  gaze. 

"  And  do  you  also  sympathize  with  the  free-born  notions  of 
Madeleine  ?  "  I  asked. 

"I  do,"  she  answered.  "  I  think  I  should  love  to  visit  the 
scenes  familiar  to  my  parents.  My  Indian  blood  won't  let  me 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  11 

rest.  I  wish  to  see  something  more  of  life  in  the  wilderness. 
You  will  call  it  a  girlish  fancy ;  but  with  me  it  is  a  passion." 

"  But  you  will  soon  tire  of  it.  Beside,  you  are  not  strong 
enough,  either  of  you,  to  endure  the  fatigues  and  dangers  of  the 
long  and  difficult  journey." 

"  Women  and  children  innumerable  are,  at  this  moment,  on 
the  Oregon  trail.  Few  of  them  have  experienced  guides, 
either ;  but  that  will  not  be  the  case  with  us,"  replied  Mary, 
looking  at  her  father. 

"  But  even  he  and  Basil  may  not  be  able  to  defend  you 
from  the  savages.  You  may  lie  down  in  fancied  security  at 
night,  and  before  morning  those  dark  tresses  may  grace  the 
belt  of  a  Blackfoot  or  a  Pawnee,"  I  continued. 

"  God  can  protect  us  in  all  places.  Does  He  not  provide 
for  the  sparrows  ?  A  hair  of  our  heads  cannot  fall  to  the 
ground  without  His  notice.  Have  you  no  faith  in  the  prom- 
ises?" 

I  was  silent.  The  daughter  of  Leroy  was  a  better  Chris- 
tian than  the  son  of  my  father.  I  returned  to  my  office  with 
my  heart  full  of  emotions  I  could  not  analyze.  I  was  pensive 
and  melancholy,  dissatisfied  with  myself  and  everything  else. 
The  meditated  Hegira  of  the  Leroys  affected  me  strangely ; 
for  I  had  unconsciously  contracted  a  friendship  for  thgm,  and 
I  knew  their  departure  would  leave  a  void  in  my  heart. 


CHAPTER  III. 

A   LETTER. 

THE  Leroys  departed,  and  I  was  left  solitary  and  sad.  I 
could  not  banish  them  from  memory.  At  night  I  dreamed 
of  the  danger  that  would  attend  the  long  pilgrimage  of  the 
two  girls.  I  saw  every  contingency  with  a  feverish  trembling. 
The  tales  of  the  old  trapper,  too,  were  not  without  effect.  I 
resolved  to  follow  the  Leroys.  I  was  several  days  in  forming 
this  resolution,  but,  when  once  decided,  I  lost  no  time  in  put- 
ting it  into  execution. 


12  SILVER-KNIFE : 

I  procured  a  double-barrelled  rifle,  bullet-moulds,  shot- 
pouch,  and  ammunition,  and,  writing  a  hurried  note  to  my 
friends  to  advise  them  of  my  purpose,  set  out  for  Westport  by 
the  steamer  "  Fire-Fly,"  intending  to  finish  my  outfit  after  my 
arrival. 

As  I  was  stepping  from  the  levee,  a  letter  was  thrust 
into  my  hand  by  a  man  closely  wrapped  in  a  Spanish  cloak. 
His  hat  was  slouched  over  his  eyes,  and  only  the  lower 
portion  of  his  face  visible,  and  that  was  covered  with  a  shaggy 
beard. 

"When  we  had  swung  out  into  the  river,  and  were  fairly 
under  way,  I  went  into  the  cabin  to  examine  it.  It  proved 
to  be  a  curious  document,  written  in  a  dashing,  legible  hand, 
and  the  style  was  bold  and  abrupt.  It  read  as  follows  : 

"  To  HARTLEY  FERGUSON  : 

"  Your  thoughts  are  of  Madeleine  Leroy.  I  advise  you  to 
forget  her,  for  she  can  never  be  anything  to  you.  She  will 
be  the  bride  of  another,  —  who,  I  will  not  say.  To  follow  her 
will  be  a  waste  of  time,  and  expose  you  to  innumerable  dan- 
gers. If  you  are  wise,  you  will  abandon  a  pursuit  which  can 
end  only  in  madness.  Your  hope  will  be  like  the  deceitful 
mirage  which  tantalizes  the  thirsty  traveller  upon  the  desert 
waste  with  the  sight  of  water.  The  object  of  your  ceaseless 
solicitude  will  vanish  as  suddenly  as  that  illusion  sinks  from 
the  vision  of  the  sojourner  upon  the  arid  sands. 

"  Let  the  knowledge  which  this  note  must  assure  you  I  pos- 
sess in  relation  to  your  movements  convince  you  that  I  shall 
still  keep  myself  advised  of  them.  Of  course  you  understand 
me.  I  have  observed  and  studied  you  closely  for  the  last  few 
months,  and  I  am  vain  enough  to  think  myself  an  adept  in 
the  study  of  human  nature.  You  please  yourself  with  the 
idea  that  you  are  a  man  of  courage  and  discretion ;  but  you 
have  very  little  of  either,  —  just  enough  of  the  one  to  free 
you  from  the  charge  of  cowardice,  and  of  the  other  to  keep 
you  out  of  fire  and  water. 

"  You  may  possibly  pass  yourself  off  upon  those  who  do  not 
know  you  as  a  thorough  man  of  the  world  and  a  gentleman  ; 
.  but  pardon  me  when  I  honestly  affirm  that  I  never  shall  do 
violence  enough  to  my  feelings  to  call  you  either. 

"  To  use  a  nautical  phrase, you  have  no  ballast;  you  are  all 


t  AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  13 

OD  one  side.     You  will  never  succeed  in  anything,  and  are 
certainly  no  part  of  a  physician, 

"  But  I  will  not  waste  words.  I  merely  wish  to  show  you 
that  you  are  not  deserving  of  Madeleine  Leroy.  You  have 
not  sufficient  stamina  to  contend  with  that  influence  which  will 
continually  be  exerted  against  you ;  so  abandon  the  pursuit, 
and  go  home  like  a  good  boy.  Yours,  tt  yIGILANCE>» 

Despite  all  my  philosophy,  I  felt  excessively  annoyed  at 
the  cool  impudence  of  mf  anonymous  correspondent.  He 
certainly  had  some  knowledge  of  me ;  that  I  could  not  doubt; 
one  allusion  of  his  had  proved  it. 

For  a  few  minutes,  I  felt  like  making  an  assault  and  bat- 
tery on  the  first  unlucky  object  that  circumstances  should 
throw  in  my  way ;  but  such  feelings  soon  subsided.  I  began 
to  regard  the  letter  as  a  thrust  from  some  individual  whom  I 
had  offended ;  and,  putting  it  in  my  pocket,  thought  but  little 
more  of  it  until  I  reached  Westport. 

Great  was  my  disappointment,  on  making  inquiries  at  that 
place,  to  learn  that  the  Leroys  had  gone  ;  and  an  old  voyageur 
informed  me  they  had  started  the  day  before  towards  the 
Kansas. 

They  had  a  good  outfit,  and  were  amply  provided  with 
horses  and  mules,  the  latter  being  used  to  draw  a  baggage- 
wagon.  The  voyageur  assured  me  it  would  be  an  easy  thing 
to  overtake  them  in  a  day,  if  tolerably  well  mounted. 

I  hastened  to  make  arrangements  to  follow  the  trail  of  my 
friends.  It  was  not  difficult  to  find  a  large,  powerful  horse, 
fit  to  bear  the  fortunes  of  a  prince.  He  was  a  fine,  coal-black, 
restless  fellow.  I  named  him  Wyandot,  in  honor  of  his 
former  owner,  who  was  an  Indian  of  the  Wyandot  nation. 
My  steed  proved,  as  the  sequel  will  show,  as  good  as  he 
looked.  Beside  my  double-barrelled  rifle,  I  had  brought  an 
excellent  pair  of  rifle-pistols  and  a  revolver  from  St.  Louis. 
I  now  procured  a  pocket-compass,  and  such  other  articles  as  I 
could  well  carry,  and  the  nature  of  the  case  seemed  to  demand. 
I  thought  of  purchasing  two  horses,  one  to  be  employed  as  a 
pack-horse ;  but  I  renounced  this  idea  upon  reflection,  believ- 
ing I  should  soon  overtake  Leroy,  who  had,  in  all  probabil- 
ity, an  ample  supply  of  provisions,  and  would  be  glad  of  the 
acquisition  to  his  strength :  moreover,  we  should  be  passing 
2 


14  SILVER-KNIFE:  t 

through  a  portion  of  the  wilderness  abounding  in  game.  In 
order  to  make,  my  debut  as  a  hunter  and  backwoodsman  in 
appropriate  style,  I  encased  myself  in  dressed  deerskin  pants, 
a  buckskin  coat,  and  a  Montero  of  most  approved  pattern. 
When  mounted  upon  the  impatient  Wyandot,  with  my  rifle 
slung  across  my  back,  my  belt  profusely  ornamented  with 
pistols  and  knives,  and  my  valise,  with  other  things,  lashed 
to  the  crupper,  I  imagine  I  did  not  present  a  very  pacific 
appearance. 

I  attracted  much  admiration;  lio  doubt,  from  the  mixed 
population  of  Westport,  which,  by  the  way,  consisted  of  Span- 
iards, Frenchmen,  Indians,  Negroes,  Half-breeds,  and  every 
shade  of  human  nature,  from  the  darkest  to  the  whitest. 

Leaving  the  dirty  log-cabins  and  huts,  I  spurred  boldly 
forward  on  the  trail.  As  I  did  so,  I  fancied  I  saw  the  same 
cloaked  figure,  the  same  moustached  face,  with  the  hat  slouched 
over  the  eyes,  that  had  appeared  to  me  when  the  paper  was 
thrust  into  my  hand.  I  felt  quite  confident  of  it  then  ;  but 
circumstances  that  have  transpired  since  have  put  the  matter 
beyond  doubt. 

Whether  I  really  heard  a  low,  derisive  laugh,  as  I  passed 
him,  or  whether  I  imagined  it,  I  am  unable  to  decide. 

I  galloped  on,  and  when  an  abrupt  turn  hid  me  from  view 
he  was  still  standing  there,  like  a  bird  of  evil  omen. 

I  am  not  naturally  superstitious,  but  the  sight  of  that  sin- 
ister form,  fixed  and  statue-like,  made  me  nervous  for  hours 
after. 

Following  the  Oregon  route,  I  kept  on  toward  the  Kansas. 
I  went  forward  at  a  round  pace,  not  fearing  but  I  should  soon 
overtake  my  friends,  and  surprise  them  not  a  little.  It  was  a 
bright,  beautiful  July  morning,  and  a  ride  of  half  a  day  braced 
up  rny  nerves  and  restored  my  cheerfulness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

SILVER-KNIFE. 


I  WAS  not  destined  to  be  long  without  adventures.  I  should 
have  been  sorely  disappointed  had  it  been  otherwise ;  for,  like 
the  valorous  knight  of  La  Mancha,  I  had  gone  forth  to  seek  them. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  15 

The  day  passed  without  interruption.  The  sun  was  sink- 
ing lazily  behind  the  distant  hills.  A  feeling  of  loneliness 
began  to  steal  over  me.  I  was  not  yet  upon  the  open  prairie. 
My  way  thus  far  had  been  over  a  rugged  and  broken  country, 
interspersed  with  shrubs  and  trees  of  various  kinds.  The 
trail  now  led  through  a  thicket  of  birch  and  low  pine.  Con- 
trary to  my  expectations,  I  had  reached  the  Kansas. 

A  more  gloomy  situation  cannot  be  imagined.  I  gave  the 
rein  to  Wyandot,  and  dashed  on  as  fast  as  possible ;  but  the 
way  was  treacherous,  and  I 'was  glad  to  moderate  my  speed. 

The  sun  said  his  lingering  "  good-night,"  and  darkness  and 
clouds  shut  down  upon  his  track.  Wyandot  suddenly  stopped, 
and  snuffed  the  air.  I  knew  something  was  wrong.  Quickly 
leaping  from  the  saddle,  I  put  my  eyes  as  near  the  earth  as 
possible ;  I  was  off  the  trail.  Knowing  it  would  be  folly  to 
attempt  finding  it  until  morning,  I  began  to  look  about  me  for 
the  most  eligible  spot  whereon  to  pass  the  night.  But  the 
ground  was  swampy  and  wet,  and  augured  poorly  for  a  com- 
fortable night's  rest. 

Taking  Wyandot  by  the  bridle,  I  led  him  forward  toward 
an  eminence  on  my  left,  upon  which  grew  a  cluster  of  trees  of 
large  growth.  The  dumb  animal  pricked  up  his  ears  as  I 
advanced,  hung  back  upon  the  bridle,  and  manifested  a  decided 
aversion  to  that  locality.  As  I  proceeded,  I  saw  smoke  curl- 
ing up  through  the  branches  of  the  trees. 

"  So  we  are  to  have  neighbors,"  I  said,  patting  the  arching 
neck  of  Wyandot,  "  and  perhaps  we  shan't  like  them." 

Fastening  the  horse  to  a  tree,  I  undertook  to  reconnoiter  in 
Indian  style.  Getting  upon  my  hands  and  knees,  I  wormed 
myself  forward  with  4he  greatest  caution.  After  going  on  for 
some  time  in  this  painful  posture,  through  a  vista  in  the  trees 
I  was  enabled  to  see  a  person  cooking  meat  over  a  blazing 
fire.  A  closer  scrutiny  convinced  me  it  was  not  a  white  man. 
His  figure  was  indeed  striking  and  noble,  stately  as  Saul,  tall 
as  the  cedars  of  Lebanon. 

He  might  have  been  forty  years  of  age  ;  possibly  younger. 
His  dress  seemed  above  the  condition  of  his  red  brethren.  He 
wore  a  tunic  of  deerskin  dressed  and  white,  fringed  at  the 
bottom  and  about  the  wrists.  His  leggins  were  of  the  same 
material.  The  moccasins  were  of  a  stouter  fabric,  and  wrought. 


16  •      SILVER-KNIFE  I 

with  the  quills  of  the  porcupine.  His  hair  was  arranged  in  a 
style  less  fantastic  than  common  with  his  people. 

But  his  features  were  most  remarkable ;  lofty  in  their  ex- 
pression, yet  calm  and  self-possessed. 

But  little  time  was  allowed  for  further  observation.  I 
caught  an  imperfect  view  of  a  dusky  figure  beyond  ;  saw  sev- 
eral arrows  strike  the  noble-looking  savage  ;  heard  the  report 
of  a  rifle,  and  a  loud  war-whoop.  In  an  instant,  several  In- 
dians sprang  from  places  of  concealment,  and  attacked  the 
lone  warrior. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  I  caught  a  revolver  from 
my  belt,  and,  with  as  loud  a  shout  as  strength  of  lungs  could 
afford,  rushed  to  his  assistance. 

Only  those  who  have  had  experience  in  that  way  can  tell 
the  terrible  effects  of  a  revolver  in  a  determined  hand.  Two 
strong  bounds  took  me  to  the  scene  of  action.  Thrusting  my 
"  six-shooter  "  in  the  face  of  a  grim  savage  in  the  act  of  strik- 
ing with  a  hatchet,  I  pulled.  He  went  down  without  a  cry. 

Finding  himself  so  suddenly  reinforced,  the  lone  "  brave  " 
uttered  a  defiant  war-whoop,  and  fought  like  Richard  of  the 
lion  heart.  And  there  was  need,  for  there  were  only  two  to 
six. 

I  also  caught  the  noisy  mania,  and  yelled  like  all  the  fiends. 
And  now  the  revolver  showed  its  qualities,  and  cracked  three 
times  in  an  incredibly  short  space,  while  as  many  of  the 
enemy  acknowledged  its  fatality  by  starting  off  on  a  spiritual 
tramp  to  the  "  Happy  Hunting-grounds."  The  remaining 
three  turned  their  wrath  upon  my  hero,  who,  though  he  strug- 
gled manfully,  was  fast  sinking  from  loss  of  blood.  They 
approached  him  at  three  different  points,  and  that  moment 
would  have  been  his  last,  had  I  not  interfered  in  his  behalf. 
Another  of  the  painted  rascals  died  in  the  act  of  striking  his 
hunting-knife  into  the  old  warrior's  shoulders. 

I  shot  him  in  the  lungs ;  he  rolled  over  and  over,  bit  the 
dust,  and  yelled  horribly  in  the  protracted  death-struggle. 

The  other  two,  seeing  the  fate  of  their  companions,  fled, 
but  not  unscathed. 

The  crack  of  my  pistol  upon  their  track  hastened  their 
flight. 

The  lone  Indian  and  myself  stood  face  to  face,  regarding 
each  other  with  a  degree  of  interest  which  the  peculiar  circum- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  17 

stances  of  the  case  would  well  justify.     He  held  out  his  hand ; 
I  grasped  it,  and  gave  it  a  hearty  shake. 

"  Good!  "  he  articulated,  in  a  voice  from  which  all  traces 
of  excitement  had  fled. 

And  that  was  all  he  said.  His  tall  figure  swayed  to  and 
fro  for  an  instant,  like  the  lofty  oak  that  clings  tenaciously 
to  its  last  fibre,  while  the  axe  is  busy  at  its  heart,  and  then 
totters  to  its  fall. 

The  next  moment  he  lay  senseless  upon  the  earth.     I  has-* 
tened  to  examine  his  hurts.     The  most  serious  was  a  gun-shot 
wound  in  the  breast,  from  which  the  blood  streamed  in  dark- 
red  torrents.     I  was  prepared  fbr  just  such   an  emergency. 
I  had  a  small  case  of  instruments  in  my  pocket. 

It  was  not  without  a  feeling  of  deep  solicitude  that  I 
probed  the  wound.  To  my  great  satisfaction,  it  had  not 
entered  the  lungs,  but  glanced  upon  the  ribs,  following  their 
general  course  toward  the  spine.  In  two  minutes  I  held  the 
bullet  in  my  hand.  I  then  dressed  the  wound  as  well  as  cir- 
cumstances would  permit,  after  which  I  wet  his  lips  with 
brandy,  and  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  my  patient  revive. 

Taking  a  long  draught  from  the  bottle  held  to  his  mouth, 
he  appeared  wonderfully  refreshed.  Knowing  I  could  do  no 
more  for  him  at  present,  I  turned  my  attention  to  Wyandot. 
Finding  an  open  spot  where  there  was  considerable  feed,  I 
made  him  fast,  giving  him  rope  enough  to  provide  for  his 
comfort  by  nipping  the  tender  grass. 

When  I  returned,  the  red  man  was  sleeping  profoundly. 
Loss  of  blood  had  disposed  him  to  rest.  I  put  out  the  fire, 
for  fear  our  enemies  might  return  and  shoot  us  by  its  light,  — 
an  operation  I  had  no  great  relish  for. 

Wrapping  my  blanket  around  me,  I  sat  down  to  keep 
watch  through  the  dark  night.  In  about  three  hours,  upon 
looking  at  my  patient,  I  found  he  was  regarding  me  atten- 
tively. 

He  thought  it  very  singular,  probably,  that  a  white  man 
should  take  so  much  interest  in  one  of  his  race.  His  counte- 
nance indicated,  however,  that  he  was  not  wholly  at  a  loss  to 
account  for  it ;  that  he  understood  something  of  that  great 
bond  of  sympathy  which  reaches  through  every  grade  of 
humanity. 

My  case  of  instruments  was  lying  on  the  ground  near  him. 
He  pointed  to  it,  saying  the  magical  words, 


18  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  Medicine  man." 

I  assented. 

"  Good !  "  was  the  deep  response. 

I  now  proceeded  to  inquire  how  he  felt,  and  whether  he 
suffered  much. 

He  replied,  in  very  good  English  : 

"  Some  pain  here,"  putting  his  hand  upon  his  side.  "  Shall 
be  better  when  the  sun  rises.  The  red  man  is  strong,  and  his 
Jjlood  is  good.  The  Happy  Hunting-ground  is  a  long  way 
off.  The  Great  Spirit  has  not  spoken  to  Silver-Knife.  When 
he  speaks,  the  red  warrior  will  go." 

"  What  tribe  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  The  Nez  Perce.  My  lodge-fire  burns  far  beyond  the  Big 
Blue  ;  and  the  young  braves  of  Silver-Knife  are  there.  I  left 
the  great  hills  to  lead  the  pale-faces  upon  the  trail.  When 
the  sun  came  up,  this  morning,  I  started  for  the  home  of  my 
people.  But  the  Shawnees  are  treacherous  ;'  they  love  blood, 
and  hate  the  Nez  Perces.  Silver-Knife  owes  his  life  to  the 
pale  medicine  man.  He  will  not  forget.  White  man's  mem- 
ory is  bad  ;  but  the  red  man  remembers  forever." 

"  My  red  brother  has  spoken  well.  There  is  no  sin  like 
ingratitude  and  a  bad  memory." 

Saying  this,  I  produced  a  meerschaum,  which  I  had  brought 
with  me,  filled  it  in  grave  silence,  took  a  long  "  pull,"  and, 
while  exhaling  the  fragrant  smoke,  passed  it  to  Silver-Knife. 

And  thus  we  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace. 

"  Who  keeps  the  lodge-fire  bright,  in  the  absence  of  Silver- 
Knife  ? "  I  asked. 

"  The  Morning  Star  and  the  Singing  Bird,"  he  replied. 

"  Those  are  the  daughters  of  my  red  brother  ?  " 

Silver-Knife  nodded  assent. 

"  Has  my  red  friend  no  squaw,  and  no  sons  ?  " 

"  He  has  both.  They  are  upon  the  buffalo-hunt.  Where 
is  my  white  brother  going  ?  " 

"  Away  to  the  big  mountains  to  hunt,  and  to  see  the  cus- 
toms of  his  red  brothers." 

"  Let  my  white  brother  turn  back  when  the  sun  has  risen, 
or  he  will  lose  his  scalp.  The  red  man  is  the  enemy  of  the 
pale-face." 

"  Is  the  pale-face  a  squaw,  that  he  should  fear  to  meet  his 
enemies  ?  His  heart  is  young  and  strong,  and  his  scalp  is 
safe.  He  will  not  turn  back." 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  19 

"  Good !  My  brother  has  a  big  heart.  Our  great  father 
will  make  him  a  war-chief." 

Having  smoked  our  pipe,  and  it  being  the  opinion  of  Silver- 
Knife  that  the  two  natives  would  not  trouble  us  again,  I 
spread  my  blanket  upon  the  ground,  and  slept.  In  the  dreams 
that  followed,  I  saw  the  "  Morning  Star  "  and  the  "  Singing 
Bird,"  fair  as  the  daughters  of  Rechab,  and  dignified  as  the 
sons. 


CHAPTER    V. 

THE   PRAIRIES. 

IT  was  broad  daylight  when  I  awoke.  The  first  object 
that  met  my  gaze  was  Silver-Knife  sitting  by  a  blazing  fire. 
At  a  short  distance  from  him,  suspended  from  the  branch  of  a 
tree,  were  the  scalps  of  the  three  Indians  we  had  killed. 

He  was  regarding  them  with  evident  satisfaction  while  the 
morning's  meal  was  cooking  by  the  fire. 

I  ate  -with  a  good  relish ;  and  Silver-Knife,  despite  his 
wounds,  had  lost  nothing  of  his  appetite. 

After  smoking  a  while  in  silence,  it  was  agreed  that  we 
should  go  forward  in  company.  This  arrangement  was  very 
agreeable  to  me,  for  several  reasons. 

I  found  Wyandot  rather  restless,  having  cropped  all  the 
grass  within  reach. 

The  horse  of  Silver-Knife  was  discovered  at  a  short  dis- 
tance, "  hobbled  "  in  true  Indian  style.  It  had  fortunately 
escaped  the  rapacity  of  the  Shawnee  visitors.  It  was  a  very 
superior  animal,  in  every  way  fit  for  a  companion  for  Wyan- 
dot. 

We  soon  reached  the  Kansas,  and  had  no  difficulty  in  cross- 
ing upon  a  raft.  We  stopped  at  Fort  Leavenworth  only  long 
enough  to  inquire  about  Leroy.  He  had  passed  there  twenty- 
four  hours  previously,  and  I  was  doomed  to  disappointment 
once  more. 

We  met  several  Kansas  Indians  during  the  day,  and  en- 
camped at  night  by  a  small  stream.  We  kept  on  for  eight 
days  without  interruption,  and  reached  the  Platte  river  with- 


lO  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

out  hearing  anything  of  Leroy.  I  grew  impatient.  We  had 
travelled  rapidly,  and  must  have  passed  them  on  the  way. 
We  were  now,  to  the  best  of  our  judgment,  about  three  hun- 
dred miles  from  Westport ;  and  I  began  to  be  sensible  of  the 
errpr  of  such  precipitate  travelling. 

I  resolved  to  wait  a  day  or  two  where  we  were,  to  give 
Leroy  time  to  come  up,  providing  I  was  correct  in  my  con- 
jectures. To  this  Silver-Knife  made  no  objections.  We  had 
s^en  signs  of J  buffalo  during  the  last  day's  ride,  and  were 
determined  to  have  a  hunt,  and  lay  in  a  store  of  meat  for 
future  use. 

For  security  against  the  Pawnees  and  other  roving  bands 
of  Indians,  we  constructed  a  camp  of  small  cotton-woods. 
This  could  not  have  been  accomplished  without  the  aid  of 
Silver-Knife's  hatchet,  and  we  were  not  a  little  proud  of  our 
rude  dwelling,  when  completed.  When  this  was  done, 
Silver-Knife  went  forth  to  kill  a  buffalo,  leaving  me  to 
guard  the  premises. 

"^Lt  was  near  the  night-time.  On  one  hand  a  boundless 
prairie  stretched  away  toward  the  setting  sun,  while  a  thick 
growth  of  cotton-wood  was  upon  the  other.  I  grew  thoughtful. 
Where  were  the  daughters  of  Leroy  —  the  restles  Madeleine, 
and  the  calm  Mary  ?  Perhaps  they  had  already  fallen  vic- 
tims to  savage  cruelty.  I  shuddered  at  the  thought,  and  felt 
that  I  could  not  remain  in  suspense  much  longer  without 
being  positively  wretched. 

And  why  should  I  be  wretched  ?  Sure  enough  ?  What 
was  Ma  leleine  Leroy  to  me  ?  Nothing,  of  course  ;  but,  in 
common  friendship,  I  felt  it  my  duty  to  protect  her,  so  far 
as  it  was  in  my  power  to  exert  any  agency  in  her  behalf. 

I  caught  Wyandot,  and  saddling  him,  mounted  and  galloped 
away  over  the  prairie,  without  any  fixed  purpose.  Perhaps  I 
had  a  vague  hope  of  meeting  Leroy,  but  no  thought  of  danger. 
Well  mounted,  and  well  armed,  as  I  was,  I  felt  myself  equal 
to  a  dozen  redskins  in  fair  fight. 

I  dashed  on  for  about  half  an  hour,  when  I  saw  a  single 
horseman  coming  down  upon  me  at  a  pace  equal  to  my  own. 

The  cause  of 'his  haste  was  soon  obvious.  A  score  of  ene- 
mies were  in  headlong  pursuit.  The  pursuing  party  were 
gaining,  their  horses  being  in  better  plight. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY. 

One,  far  in  advance  of  the  rest,  was  within  twenty  yards  of 
the  solitary  rider,  whom  I  was  about  giving  up  for  lost,  when 
he  suddenly  faced  about,  and  I  saw  a  puff  of  smoke  curl  up, 
while,  at  the  same  moment,  the  pursuer  dropped  from  his 
horse. 

The  pursued  turned  and  spurred  on,  loading  as  he  came. 
It  was  Silver-Knife.  Wyandot  reared  and  plunged,  while  his 
eyes  shot  fire.  "  He  snuffed  the  battle  afar  off." 

I  gave  him  the  rein,  but  not  the  spur  ;  he  was"  too  eager  fo£ 
the  fray  to  need  that.  I  never  felt  so  much  of  the  mad 
demon  in  my  blood  before.  With  a  snort  and  a  bound, 
Wyandot  sprang  toward  Silver-Knife.  The  hoofs  of  the 
noble  animal  spurned  the  ground,  as  if  he  disdained  to  touch  it. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  the  brave  old  chief,  as  I  thundered 
up  to  his  side  ;  and  then  he  quickly  added,  "  Pawnees." 

"  How  many  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Twenty." 

"  Then  we  will  destroy  half  of  them,"  said  I,  firmly. 

The  old  man  looked  in  my  face  with  a  grim  smile. 
iron  rigidness  of  the  muscles  of  the  mouth  told  him  that  my 
purpose  was  fixed  and  dangerous. 

"  The  white  devil  is  up,"  he  muttered,  while,  at  the  same 
moment,  he  drew  the  driver  from  his  rifle,  turned  iqtfMJMwp 
stirrups,  and  shot  down  the  foremost  of  the  enemy. 

"  Another  one  will  soon  be  in  range,"  he  added,  coolly,  ancH| 
sent  home  a  ball. 

,  I  slackened  my  speed,  and  another  did  come  within  range, 
and  never  got  out  of  it.  -  I  aimed  right  between  his  wolfish- 
looking  eyes,  and  when  my  rifle  cracked  the  poor  painted 
wretch  leaped  straight  up  from  his  horse,  without  a  single  sound 
to  tell  that  the  death  agony  was  upon  him.  Quivering  an 
instant  like  a  galvanized  corpse,  he  sank  down  upon  the 
waving  prairie  grass,  without  a  pulse  of  life  or  a  nut-shell  full 
of  breath  in  his  body. 

"  There 's  a  scalp  for  you,"  I  said  to  Silver-Knife,  as 
another  native  bore  rapidly  down  upon  us. 

We  were  now  likely  to  huve  sharp  work  of  it.  The  main 
body  was  close  at  hand,  whooping  and  howling,  as  though  the 
infernal  regions  had  burst  their  bounds,  and  released  their 
inmates. 


22  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

I  now  spurred  forward  as  fast  as  I  could,  to  gain  time  to 
load  once  more  before  they  got  too  near  for  rifle  practice. 

Before  I  had  sent  home  another  charge,  Silver-Knife  fired 
for  the  third  time,  and'  the  unearthly  yell  that  followed  told 
with  what  effect.  It  did  not  prove  so  dead  a  shot  as  mine  ; 
for  when  I  turned  in  the  stirrup  to  let  drive  again,  an  Indian 
was  rolling  about  as  though  he  did  n't  care  but  little  how 
much  he  beat  down  the  tall  grass. 

"  I  shot  him  in  that  way  to  scare  the  rest,"  said  Silver- 
Knife,  who  was  the  coolest  Indian  in  fight  that  I  ever  saw 
during  all  my  experience  among  the  Rocky  Mountains. 

Several  of  our  pursuers  were  armed  with  rifles,  and  bullets 
began  to  whistle  about  our  ears.  One  gigantic  fellow  was 
preparing  to  fire  as  I  cast  my  eye  over  the  prairie  in  search 
of  another  victim. 

MUd  not  feel  like  adopting  Silver-Knife's  style  of  killing  ; 
anclso  thought  I  would  learn  from  actual  experiment  whether 
ijajy  large  friend's  os  frontis  was  bullet  proof.  But  I  under- 
shot ;  the  ball  took  effect  in  the  centre  of  his  proboscis.  He 
tried  to  utter  the  war-cry  of  his  people,  dropped  his  gun,  threw 
up  his  arms,  and  fell  back  over  his  horse's  tail.  That  was  the 
last  I  saw  of  that  Indian. 

Indian  is  a  coward  so  long  as  he  sees  a  loaded  rifle 

ore  him ;  but  the  moment  it  is  discharged  witnesses  a  com- 
plete transformation  in  the  animal,  — he  becomes  as  brave  as 
the  bravest.  It  was  so  in  this  case.  I  had  held  three  or  four 
in  check  with  my  rifle  before  I  fired,  but  the  instant  they 
heard  the  discharge  they  rushed  toward  me,  yelling  horribly, 
with  up-lifted  hatchets. 

I  felt  a  sort  of  unnatural  joy  in  thinking  of  the  surprise 
that  was  in  reserve  for  them.  The  first  one  that  was  near 
enough  acknowledged  the  superiority  of  "revolvers  "  by  tip- 
ping out  of  his  saddle  in  a  very  ungentlemanly  manner. 

And  now  the  others  thought  they  were  sure  of  me,  seeing 
me,  as  they  believed,  holding  out  and  menacing  them  with  an 
empty  pistol,  and  they  laughed  in  savage  scorn. 

A  stout,  black-looking  fellow,  with  a  profusion  of  bears' 
claws  strung  about  his  neck,  several  scalps  at  his  belt,  and 
more  profusely  bedevilled  than  any  of  his  companions,  thought 
it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  impale  me  upon  his  long  spear, 

and  thus  make  me  an  example  to  all  other  pale-faces. 
r  t- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  23 

I  did  not  approve  of  such  a  procedure,  not  wishing  to  be 
spitted  like  a  turkey  for  a  Thanksgiving  festival.  Because  he 
had  cherished  such  an  unknightly  thought,  I  passed  instantly 
over  to  the  stomach-and-lung-shooting  system  of  Silver-Knife, 
and  let  him  have  it  through  the  sternum,  just  below  his  neck- 
lace of  bear-claws. 

How  he  howled  and  tore  up  the  grass  !  He  was  floundering 
there  when  I  was  too  far  away  to  see  him,  or  offer  a  word  of 
consolation. 

The  third  came  to  a  dead  halt.     He  never  went  forwa 
again,  if  I  except  a  lofty  tumble  over  his  horse's  head. 

There  was  now  a  temporary  cessation  of  hostilities.  The 
Indians,  seeing  the  fate  of  so  many  of  their  warriors,  held 
back  and  huddled  together  on  a  little  eminence,  like  sheep. 
They  were  probably  holding  a  council.  I  looked  about  for 
Silver-Knife ;  he  was  scalping  the  dead. 

This  edifying  employment  was  soon  completed,  for  an 
Indian  will  rid  an  enemy  of  his  hair  in  an  incredibly  short 
time. 

I  was  differently  engaged  —  reloading  my  three  empty 
barrels. 

"  They  're  about  to  charge  upon  us,"  said  Silver-Knife.  "  I 
don't  feel  very  strong  —  sore  from  wounds  —  better  run  for 
it,  and  get  'em  scattered  about  the  prairie." 

This  was  very  good  advice,  and  we  scampered  away  as  fast 
as  our  horses  would  carry  us ;  and  that  was  at  a  dashing  rate, 
for  Wyandot  was  in  good  condition,  and  the  chief's  horse  was 
not  blown. 

There  are  many  things  which  a  man  of  action  and.adventure 
meets  with  which  are  exceedingly  hard  to  describe.  In  a 
particular  manner  is  this  true  of  the  adventurer  in  the  Rocky 
Mountains.  For  instance,  it  is  difficult  to  convey  a  correct  or 
definite  idea  of  a  dozen  savages,  mounted  on  fleet  horses  with- 
out'saddles,  and  many  without  bridles,  mad  with  repulse, 
eager  for  vengeance,  and  bedaubed  wickedly  with  war-paint. 
To  be  fully  impressed  with  the  wildness  of  such  a  spectacle, 
one  must  see  with  his  own  eyes.  Mere  ink-drops  cannot 
picture  the  scene ;  it  is  exciting,  madly  exciting. 

Our  enemies  were  again  in  motion.  If  they  had  been 
indebted  to  shouting  and  howling  for  their  motive  power,  they 
would  have  been  victors  in  the  race.  When  a  savage  can  do 
nothing  else,  he  can  yell  bravely. 


24  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

The  result  of  all  this  racing  was  what  Silver-Knife  had 
predicted  and  wished ;  our  foes  were  soon  scattered  over  the 
plain,  although  they  kept  as  near  together  as  they  could  :  but 
some  were  better  mounted,  and  left  their  less  lucky  compan- 
ions in  the  rear.  We  reached  our  camp  of  cotton-woods  in 
safety,  while  the  savages  drew  up  at  the  distance  of  about 
three  hundred  and  fifty  or  four  hundred  yards,  to  devise 
means  for  dislodging  us.  Our  horses  were  taken  into  camp, 
and  we  prepared  to  act  on  the  defensive. 

"'I  think  I  will  try  a  shot  at  one  of  those  fellows  while 
they  are  taking  counsel  together,"  I  said. 

"  Too  far,"  replied  Silver-Knife.  «  Ball  won't  hold  up  — 
shoot  the  ground." 

"  I  '11  decide  that,"  I  answered ;  and,  stepping  into  the 
open  air,  rested  my  rifle  upon  the  limb  of  a  scrubby  birch. 

The  Indians  laughed  in  derision,  and  one  of  them  expressed 
his  urnitigated  contempt  by  some  very  insulting  pantomine. 

"  You  don't  know  the  mettle  of  a  Yankee  rifle,  my  gentle- 
man," I  muttered,  as  I  took  a  steady  aim  at  the  "  brave  " 
who  had  figured  so  .conspicuously  in  dumb  show.  I  fired,  and 
never  saw  a  pair  of  heels  fly  up  into  the  air  any  quicker  than 
did  his.  His  astonishment  could  not  have  been  greater  had 
he  been  struck  down  by  some  electric  agency  ;  at  least,  that 
was  my  opinion  at  the  time,  and  I  still  retain  a  vivid  impres- 
sion of  it.  Had  he  practised  ground  and  lofty  tumbling  all 
his  life,  he  could  not  have  gone  through  a  series  of  gymnastic 
exercises  with  greater  expedition. 

The  aerial  part  of  the  performance  soon  ended,  and  he 
finished  the  whole  by  a  few  spasmodic  kicks,  as  he  lay  prone 
on  his  back. 

"  They  did  n't  expect  that,"  said  Silver-Knife,  laconically. 
"  They  think  you  one  grand  medicine." 

"  What  do  you  think  they  will  do?  "  I  asked. 

"  If  they  get  courage  enough,  they  will  charge  upon  us  ;  if 
not,  they  will  wait  till  dark  and  try  to  surprise  us." 

The  opinion  of  the  Nez  Perce  seemed  prophetic,  for,  with 
one  startling  whoop,  they  all  tore  away  and  were  soon  out  of 
sight. 

The  last  streak  of  daylight  faded  from  the  darkening  west, 
as  the  last  of  the  painted  figures  swept  from  view. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  25 

CHAPTER    VI. 

A    REUNION. 

A  FEELING  of  sadness  stole  over  me  as  I  gazed  on  the  track 
of  the  departing  foe.  My  philosophical  speculations  in  regard 
to  their  claims  to  an  immortal  soul  were  interrupted  by  hearing 
the  sound  of  a  woodman's  axe. 

"  White  man,"  said  Silver-Knife. 

"  How  can  you  tell  ? "  I  asked. 

"  White  man  strikes  heavy  and  regular;  axe  bigger  than 
Indian  hatchet." 

The  sounds  were  close  at  hand.  Desirous  of  knowing  who 
was  camping  near  us,  I  led  forth  Wyandot,  and  trotted  away 
in  the  direction  whence  they  came. 

A  great  burden  of  anxiety  was  lifted  from  my  mind  when 
I  saw  Basil  cutting  vigorously  into  a  tree,  and  a  baggage- 
wagon  drawn  up  a  short  distance  in  the  rear.  He  seized 
his  rifle  when  he  heard  the  unexpected  tramp  of  a  horse ; 
but  dropped  it  in  sheer  amazement  when  he  saw  who  came. 

"  Well,  I  reckon  the  gals  '11  be  glad  to  see  you,"  he  said, 
giving  my  hand  a  hearty  shake.  "  It  beats  all !  " 

"  How  are  your  father  and  mother  ? "  I  asked,  rather 
awkwardly. 

"  They  're  well  enough;  why  don't  you  ask  how  the  gals 
are  ?  " 

"  How  do  your  sisters  do,  then,  and  how  do  they  bear  the 
fatigues  of  the  journey  ? " 

"First  rate;  they  like  it  a  heap;  mention  your  name 
every  day.  Come,  let 's  find  'em." 

With  a  trepidation  for  which  I  was  at  a  loss  to  account,  I 
followed  Basil. 

"  Go,  and  surprise  'em,"  he  added,  pointing  to  two  figures 
reclining  upon  the  grass  at  a  short  distance.  Before  they 
had  any  warning  of  my  approach,  I  stood  confronting  them. 

"  Hartley  Ferguson ! "  cried  both,  with  a  start  of  astonish- 
ment. 

"  The  same,"  I  replied,  bowing  with  mock  formality.     "  Did 
you  expect  me,  ?  " 
4     3 


26  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

Madeleine  blushed. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  ever  expected  to  meet  you  again," 
she  murmured. 

At  that  moment  we  were  joined  by  Leroy  and  his  wife,  and 
I  was  obliged  to  relinquish  the  hands  of  the  girls  for  theirs. 

"  Turned  adventurer,  at  last,"  said  Leroy,  "  I  always 
thought  that  you  were  of  that  make.  We  are  glad  to  see 
you." 

"  And  we  shall  not  consent  for  you  to  leave  us,"  added 
Madge. 

After  asking  and  answering  questions  for  some  time,  I 
related  the  principal  events  of  my  journey,  and  invited  them 
to  share  my  camp,  for  greater  security  against  the  savages. 

"  I  thought  the  Pawnees  were  getting  civilized.  I  always 
know'd  the  creturs  would  steal,  and  were  too  lazy  to  work,  but 
they  have  n't  given  me  much  trouble  lately.  You  can't  trust 
'em,  though.  They  're  desperate  deceitful  and  cunning." 

In  half  an  hour  we  were  all  safely  at  camp.  Felling  some 
more  cotton-woods,  we  made  a  shelter  for  the  horses  and 
mules.  This  precaution  was  rendered  necessary  by  the  prox- 
imity of  the  Indians. 

When  we  had  strengthened  our  position  as  much  as  possible 
by  every  expedient  which  the  experience  of  Leroy  or  Silver- 
Knife  could  suggest,  we  sat  down  to  a  cup  of  coffee  and  a 
roast  of  buffalo-meat  with  a  good  appetite. 

Leroy  and  Basil  were  soon  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the 
Nez  Perce  chief.  They  had  met  before.  It  struck  me  that 
they  were  fitly  mated  :  well  armed  and  fed,  they  would  be  of 
themselves  a  host,  and  might  travel  the  whole  Indian  territory 
in  comparative  safety. 

Both  had  a  very  accurate  knowledge  of  the  predatory  and 
vicious  habits  of  the  dwellers  in  the  wilderness.  The  noble 
figure  of  Silver-Knife,  his  frank  and  open  expression,  native 
dignity  of  bearing,  and  the  honest,  hardy  features,  and  tall, 
sinewy  frame  of  Baptiste  Leroy,  could  not  fail  to  produce  a 
favorable  impression  upon  the  thoughtful  observer. 

Quite  a  change  had  taken  place  in  the  external  appearance 
of  the  girls  since  last  I  saw  them  at  St.  Louis. 

>  Over  their  ordinary  dresses  were  tunics  of  soft,  white  deer- 
skin, dressed  by  a  skilful  hand.  They  wore  Indian  moccasins 
ornamented  very  beautifully  with  porcupine-quills.  Instead 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  27 

of  bonnets,  gypsy  hats  were  tied  beneath  the  chin  with 
ribbon. 

They  were  cheerful  and  smiling ;  and  their  appearance  was 
interesting  as  well  as  novel.  My  coming  had  put  them  all 
in  good  humor.  There  was  only  one  damper  upon  our  enjoy- 
ment, and  that  was  the  fear  of  another  visit  from  the  Indians. 

"  I  know  the  disposition  of  the  varmints  well,"  said  Leroy, 
while  he  proceeded  to  put  his  weapons  in  order.  "  They  won't 
let  us  rest  long,  you  may  depend  on  't.  They  burn  to  avenge 
the  death  of  their  companions.  We  must  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out, or  some  on  us  will  go  under  afore  morning." 

"  Long  Rifle"  (it  was  thus  Leroy  was  known  among  many  of 
the  Indian  tribes)  "has  spoken  well.  The  red-men  will  not 
rub  the  war-paint  from  their  faces.  Their  young  men  have 
fallen,  and  their  scalps  hang  in  the  wigwam  of  my  white 
brother.  They  will  come  for  blood  before  the  sun  rises. 
Silver-Knife  has  spoken.  Let  the  young  medicine  man  speak." 

"  My  red  brother  is  wise.  He  follows  the  war-path  of  his 
enemies,  and  returns  with  many  scalps.  He  can  hunt  the 
buffalo,  trap  the  beaver,  and  teach  his  young  men  to  bend  the 
bow.  He  hath  spoken  well,"  I  answered. 

As  soon  as  the  evening  meal  was  despatched,  the  fire  was 
extinguished.  Silver-Knife  and  Leroy  were  in  earnest  council 
together  for  some  time  ;  the  latter  looked  serious. 

When  they  had  ceased  speaking,  Silver-Knife  took  his  rifle, 
tightened  his  belt,  and  walked  quietly  away. 

"  Where  is  he  going  ?  "  I  asked  of  Baptiste. 

"  To  reconnoitre.  If  there  are  any  varmints  round,  he  '11 
find  'em.  Nobody  can  follow  a  trail,  or  read  Injin  signs,  like 
that  old  Nez  Perce  chief." 

"  He  is  brave,  too,"  I  remarked. 

"  None  bolder.  As  a  general  thing,  I  an't  fond  o'  copper- 
skins  :  the  best  of  'em  will  steal  your  horse  and  take  your 
scalp  ;  but  he  's  an  exception.  There 's  somethin'  kind  o' 
human-like  in  his  countenance.  I  'd  trust  that  heathen  Ingin 
as  soon  as  I  would  some  white  men,  and  a  heap  sooner." 

"  He  '11  go  under  to-night,  if  he  an't  careful,"  said  Basil. 
"He  and  Ferguson  have  made  tearing  work  with  the  two-legged 
animals,  and  they  an't  the  most  forgetful  cattle  in  the  world." 

"  That  Nez  Perce  was  n't  born  to  be  rubbed  out  in  that 
way.  He  '11  die  like  a  human .cretur,  in  his  wigwam.  That's 


"AX  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

my  belief.  Now,  Hartley,  you  and  the  women-folks  can  go 
to  sleep  as  soon  as  you  please,  and  Basil  and  I  will  watch. 
If  there  's  any  trouble,  you  '11  be  likely  to  hear  on  V 

To  this  I  objected.  I  resolved  to  watch  also.  I  was  too 
much  interested  in  the  safety  of  Madeleine  and  Mary  to  lie 
down  quietly  to  my  dreams.  And  now,  for  the  first  time,  I 
noticed  they  were  both  armed.  A  pistol  and  a  dagger  graced 
the  belts  that  encircled  their  waists. 

From  the  daughters  I  glanced  to  the  mother ;  she  wore  the 
same  weapons. 
' "  The  garison  is  well  armed,"  I  said,  with  a  smile. 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Madeleine.  "  You  do  not  expect, 
do  you,  that  we  are  such  useless  dolls  that  we  cannot  make 
even  a  show  of  resistance  ?  Shame  upon  the  girl  who  has  not 
spirit  enough  to  strike  a  blow  in  defence  of  those  she  loves, 
and  for  the  safety  of  her  own  person  !  " 

"Very  well  spoken,"  I  replied. 

"  Perhaps  I  may  act  well,  too,  in  a  moment  of  danger. 
Females  are  not  cowards.  If  they  grow  pale,  or  sometimes 
faint,  it  is  not  for  themselves ;  it  is  for  those  they  love." 

"  Who  taught  you  such  chivalric  sentiments  ? "  I  asked, 
still  smiling. 

"  Why  should  you  ask  such  a  question,  Hartley  Ferguson  ? 
Nature  taught  me  the  feelings  I  have  attempted  to  express 
in  words.  Don't  blaspheme  your  own  perception  of  right  and 
wrong,  of  high  and  low,  by  affecting  not  to  understand  me." 

"  I  do  both  understand  and  admire,"  I  replied.  "  I  can 
picture  a  woman  endowed  with  the  high  qualities  you  have 
spoken  of,  and  something  more  than  a  doll.  I  have  never 
cherished  the  opinion  that  females  are  deficient  either  in 
moral  or  physical  courage.  But  we  are  the  slaves  of  habit ; 
circumstances  govern,  and  make  us  what  we  are.  We  natur- 
ally conform  to  those  influences  by  which  we  find  ourselves 
surrounded." 

"  Those  sentiments  are  more  worthy  of  you." 

"  Now,  tell  me,  how  have  you  fared  thus  far,  on  your  way 
to  the  promised  land  ?  " 

"  Quite  as  well  as  we  could  expect,  and  perhaps  better  than 
we  deserve.  We  have  been  menaced  with  danger  in  one  or 
two  instances;  but  our  lucky  planet  has  prevailed.  This 
morning  we  met  half  a  dozen  Sioux,  whose  movements  excited 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  29 

the  suspicion  of  my  father.  He  said  they  were  too  glad  to  see 
us,  and  that  mischief  was  probably  intended.  One  of  the 
number,  Basil  affirmed,  looked  like  a  white  man,  despite  his 
paint  and  Indian  finery." 

When  Madeleine  spoke  of  a  white  man,jl  could  not  help 
thinking  of  my  moustached  friend  at  St.  Louis  and  Westport. 
Perhaps  he  would  do  as  he  threatened.  It  would  be  an  easy 
thing,  for  a  person  disposed  to  mischief,  to  dog  our  footsteps. 
The  present  of  a  few  beads  or  knives,  or  a  few  yards  of 
gaudy  ribbon  and  cloth,  would  be  a  sufficient  inducement  for 
the  Indians,  or  half-breeds,  to  become  his  emissaries. 

There  was  nothing  very  exaggerated  in  such  an  idea. 
Some  reckless  libertine  might  have  seen  Madeleine,  and  loved 
her,  —  if  the  word  love  can  be  employed  in  such  a  connection 
without  profaning  it. 

She  would  reject  his  overtures,  of  course.  Angry  at  rebuff, 
he  would  seek  some  means  of  retaliation. 

I  resolved  to  question  Basil  in  regard  to  the  supposed  white 
man.  I  sought  him;  but  he  was  gone,  and  had  not  been 
missed.  I  expressed  fears  for  his  safety.  If  Leroy  felt  any 
apprehensions,  he  did  not  express  them,  but  smoked  his  pipe 
in  silence. 

After  a  time,  he  condescended  to  remark  that  the  lad 
probably  knew  what  he  was  about ;  but,  at  the  same  time,  ap- 
peared uneasy. 

"  Everything  is  ordered  by  Providence,  and  can't  be 
changed,"  he  went  on  to  say.  "  Such  as  are  for  the  sword,  to 
the  svffu'd  ;  such  as  are  for  famine,  to  famine ;  and  such  as  are 
for  captivity,  to  captivity.  Thus  saith  the  scripter." 

This,  I  dare  say,  was  excellent  philosophy,  and  very  Chris- 
tian-like, but  under  the  circumstances  was  not  very  consoling. 

Several  hours  of  the  solemn  night  wore  away.  A  few 
straggling  stars  came  out,  to  shed  an  imperfect  light  upon  the 
scene.  They  reminded  me  of  those  faint  hopes  which  dawn 
upon  our  darkest  prospects.  Their  silvery,  delicate  beams 
were  just  sufficient  to  reveal  to  each  an  indistinct  and  dreamy 
outline  of  the  other. 

All  were  wakeful  and  anxious. 

The  tall  form  of  Leroy  stood  fixed  and  motionless  by  the 
camp-door.  His  right  hand  rested  upon  the  muzzle  of  his  long 
and  deadly  rifle.  It  had  been  his  favorite  for  'many  years  ; 
3* 


30  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

• 

it  was  his  friend,  his  companion  ;  he  had  proved  it.  Next  to 
his  wife  and  children,  that  weapon  was  dear  to  him.  It  had 
been  with  him  in  hours  of  danger;  it  had  thinned  the  ranks 
of  his  enemies ;  had  brought  down  the  buffalo,  the  elk,  the 
antelope,  when  he  was  perishing  with  hunger. 

What  could  supply  the  place  of  the  rifle?  Nothing. 
Without  it  he  could  not  pursue  the  wandering  life  of  which 
he  was  so  deeply  enamored. 


CHAPTER    VII. 

AN   EVENTFUL    NIGHT. 

SUDDENLY  a  lofty  figure  darkened  the  door.  It  was  Silver- 
Knife. 

Any  signs  ? "  asked  Leroy,  in  a  low  voice. 
'Yes." 
;  Where  ?  " 

Away  toward  the  sunset." 
How  many  ?  " 

Perhaps  twenty -five,  perhaps  thirty." 
How  soon  before  they  '11  be  down  upon  us,  do  you  think  ? " 
;  In  half  an  hour  you  will  hear  their  war-cry,  and  see  the 
paint  upon  their  faces." 

"  Well,  let  'em  come.  There  won't  many  go  back  again. 
This  bit  of  old  iron  '11  speak  a  word  to  'em  they  don't  like. 
You  may  put  it  down  as  sartin  that  they  won't  stay  long 
arter  they  've  found  out  old  Ironsides  is  here"." 

By  "  old  Ironsides"  he  meant  his  rifle,  which  he  had  named, 
very  appropriately,  as  he  believed,  after  the  ship  Constitution, 
upon  the  theme  of  whose  exploits  he  was  sometimes  very 
eloquent. 

"I  an't  the  man  that  loves  to  kill  human  creturs,  because 
life  's  precious,  and  they  may  n't  be  prepared  exactly  for  the 
change  :  but  when  I  rub  out  one  o'  them  painted  heathen,  I 
don't  feel  as  though  I 'd  committed  a  crime,  that's  sartin. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  31 

*  . 

But,  Silver-Knife,  you  ari't  like  the  rest  of  'em.  I  can  hail 
you  as  a  feller-cretur.  You  're  what  I  call  a  true  man,  and 
I  'm  the  old  hoss  what  would  stick  by  ye  to  the  last.  Here  's 
my  hand  on  V 

Silver-Knife  took  the  proffered  hand,  and  shook  it  gravely. 
Then,  after  a  pause,  said :  "  There  are  pleasant  lands  beyond 
•  the  big  hills.  They  abound  with  game.  The  Indian's  corn 
and  the  white  man's  grain  will  grow  there.  The  Great  Spirit 
has  given  those  fertile  valleys  and  wide  prairies  to  the  Nez 
Perces.  They  find  it -a  goodly  place  to  dwell  in.  There  is 
room  enough  for  my  white  brother.  He  shall  go  there  and 
fulfil  his  days  in  peace.  His  wife,  and  his  son,  and  the  Pale 
Lilies,  shall  go  with  him ;  and  the  great  medicine  man  shall 
not  tarry  behind.  My  people  will  give  them  the  hand  of 
friendship.  They  will  build  lodges  for  them  near  the  pleas- 
ant hunting-grounds.  The  colds  of  winter  shall  not  freeze 
them,  and  the  suns  of  summer  shall  not  burn  them.  There  is 
wood  to  make  the  lodge-fire  bright,  and  grateful  arbors 
formed  by  the  branches  of  trees,  to  ward  off  the  fervid  suns 
of  summer.  When  they  are  hungry,  they  can  go  forth  and 
hunt ;  when  they  are  thirsty,  they  can  drink  from  the  running 
streams.  What  says  Long  Rifle,  and  the  pale  medicine 
man  ? " 

For  a  time  we  were  silent,  touched  with  the  magnanimity 
of  the  chief.  A  smile  played  over  the  features  of  Madeleine. 
Even  the  calm  Mary  gathered  a  spark  of  enthusiasm  from  the 
war-chief. 

Old  Baptiste  Leroy  passed  the  back  of  his  rough  hand 
across  his  face,  as  if  to  brush  away  the  clouds  and  make  his 
vision  clearer. 

"  Long  Rifle  has  heard  the  words  of  his  red  brother.  They 
have  sounded  to  him  like  the  pdeasant  murmuring  of  waters 
when  one  is  thirsty,"  answered  Leroy.  "  Silver-Knife  has 
a  great  heart.  The  heart  of  Long  Rifle  says,  Go  to  the  pleas- 
ant lands.  Let  the  others  speak." 

"  I  love  the  counsels  of  the  war-chief,"  said  Madge.  "  I  will 
follow  him  beyond  the  big  hills." 

"  Good,"  said  Madeleine,  with  comic  gravity,  while  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  the  chief.  "  The  Pale  Lilies  will  go  with 
him.  Their  lodge-fire  shall  burn  near  his.  I  give  you  my 
hand,  —  henceforth  we  are  friends." 

Silver-Knife  laid  the  fair  hand  of  Madeleine  upon  his  heart. 


32  SILVER-KNIFE . 

"  The  daughter  of  Long  Rifle  is  comely.  The  heart  of  her 
red  brother  is  toward  her.  The  Morning  Star  and  the  Singing 
Bird  shall  welcome  the  Pale  Lilies.  Women  speak  better 
than  the  rough  war-chief." 

"  The  Morning  Star  and  the  Pale  Lily  shall  sing  together," 
I  added. 

"  You  are  perverting  Scripture,"  answered  Madeleine, 
archly.  "  But  you  have  not  said  you  shall  go  with  us  be- 
yond the  hills." 

She  stood  very  near  me  —  I  could  fcel  her  breath  on  my 
cheek  while  she  spoke.  I  could  not  resist  taking  her  hand, 
and  pressing  it  in  mine. 

"I  shall  not  leave  you  —  I  will  go  with  you,  wherever  it- 
may  be  your  destiny  to  wander." 

My  voice  was  low  and  deep ;  for  the  words  were  not  "  the 
words  of  poor,  common  courtesy,"  which  are  such  a  "  very 
mockery." 

The  little  hand  seemed  to  shrink  and  wither  as  it  lay 
in  mine;  and  the  next  moment  it  was  withdrawn.  What 
did  it  mean  ?  Years  of  life  appeared  to  be  placed  upon  my 
head  in  a  moment  of  time. 

I  was  moody  and  dissatisfied.  All  anxiety  in  regard  to 
surrounding  danger  faded  away,  as  a  minor  consideration. 

Mary  stole  cautiously  to  my  side,  and  said  she  feared  for 
the  safety  of  Basil. 

Silver-Knife  warned  us  to  silence  and  watchfulness. 

Leroy  had  been  observing  some  moving  object  for  the  last 
few  minutes,  which  proved  to  be  the  object  of  our  solic- 
itude—  Basil.  He  crept  in  with  the  noiseless  tread  of  an 
Indian.  He  had  news  for  us ;  a  party  of  savages  were  creep- 
ing slowly  toward  the  camp  on  our  right. 

We  now  disposed  ourselve's  about  the  camp  according  to 
the  advice  of  Leroy.  Our  cotton-woods  had  been  so  arranged, 
one  upon  the  other,  that  rude  loop-holes  had  been  left  for  an 
emergency.  We  thrust  our  rifles  through  these  upon  each 
side  of  the  camp,  Leroy  and  myself  being  upon  that  where 
the  attack  was  first  expected. 

We  had  not  been  long  in  this  belligerent  attitude  when 
my  companion  solicited  my  attention,  by  a  touch  upon  the 
arm.  He  directed  my  gaze  with  his  finger.  At  no  great  dis- 
tance I  could  plainly  see  some  object  in  motion.  It  did  not 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  33 

require  much  stretch,  of  imagination  to  determine  it  an  In- 
dian brave.  His  movements  were  as  stealthy  as  a  cat's, 
proving  him  an  adept. 

"  He  expects  to  find  us  sleeping,"  whispered  Baptiste. 

The  scout  was  soon  within  a  few  yards  of  the  camp. 
Seeing  that  all  was  dark  and  still,  he  grew  bolder,  —  arose  to 
his  feet,  and  advanced. 

Imitating  Silver-Knife  and  Leroy,  we  stretched  ourselves 
upon  the  ground  and  feigned  sleep ;  but  the  lids  were  not 
quite  closed,  for  all  felt  the  necessity  of  sleeping  with  one  eye 
open. 

It  would  seem  that  the  scout  was  bent  on  a  piece  of  bra- 
vado. With  noiseless  tread,  he  came  to  the  camp  door  and 
looked  in. 

The  tall,  gaunt  figure  stood  there  nearly  a  minute.  Per- 
haps he  thought  seriously  of  coming  in,  and  taking  a  scalp, 
and  thus  immortalizing  his  name.  It  was  not  very  light 
within,  and  I  do  not  imagine  he  could  tell  our  numbers  accu- 
rately. He  stalked  away,  at  length,  as  silently  as  he  came. 

"  Good !  "  exclaimed  Silver-Knife,  with  that  peculiar  gut- 
tural sound  that  characterizes  his  race. 

"  He  will  soon  be  back  with  more,"  said  Leroy,  in  answer 
to  my  look  of  inquiry.  "  They  will  come  up  boldly,  thinking 
to  surprise  and  slay  us  without  resistance  ;  but  old  Ironsides 
'11  have  a  word  to  say  about  that.  They  '11  come  down  upon 
us  on  this  side.  Don  't  fire  fc'jfl  they  get  close  to  the  muzzles 
of  our  rifles.  Don't  waste  any  powder  —  let  every  shot  tell. 
Aim  at  the  eyes.  Gak,  keep  back  there,  out  o'  the  way  of 
the  balls.  Them  varmints  don't  stand  for  shooting  women,  or 
children  either.  Now,  let  every  one  shut  his  mouth,  and  keep  i 
his  tongue  between  his  teeth." 

We  were  well  prepared  for  an  enemy,  armed  to  the  teeth, 
beside  being  fortified.  I  had  a  double-barrelled  rifle,  a  revolver, 
and  a  brace  of  cAmmon  pistols.  The  latter  I  lent  to  Silver- 
Knife,  as  he  needed  them  more  than  myself. 

Leroy  had  regular  horse-pistols  of  astonishing  calibre,  and 
they  had  seen  service  as  well  as  old  Ironsides.  This  was  not 
all.  He  had  two  double-barrelled  shot-guns,  carefully  loaded 
with  ball. 

I  felt  but  little  anxiety  in  regard  to  the  result,  for  five 
times  our  number  could  not  well  dislodge  us. 


34  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

4r 

What  Leroy  had  predicted  proved  sooth.  First,  the  spy 
showed  his  painted  visage,  and  then  another  and  another  of  his 
brethren,  until  we  could  not  count  them. 

There  never  was  a  finer  opportunity  for  an  effective  shot. 
As  they  advanced  they  covered  just  enough  ground  to  allov 
each  of  us  to  single  out  his  victim. 

They  came  on  in  silence.  There  was  no  misgiving,  no  hesi- 
tation, no  doubts  in  their  minds  in  regard  to  the  results* 
They  considered  us  sure  game  —  had  already  counted  our 
scalps.  Soon  were  they  undeceived. 

When  they  were  so  near  that  the  whites  of  their  eyes  were 
visible,  we  fired. 

It  was  truly  a  deadly  volley,  followed  by  a  shriek  of  agony, 
and  a  prolonged  cry  of  rage  and  disappointment.  J  dis- 
charged both  my  barrels  simultaneously,  and  have  good  reason 
to  suppose  they  took  effect. 

To  our  consternation,  the  cries  of  the  savages  were  met  by 
answering  yells  upon  the  opposite  quarter.  We  sprang  to 
meet  them.  A  volley  from  our  pistols  and  the  smooth-bores 
repulsed  them.  It  was  now  one  continued  scene  of  attack 
and  repulse.  Wherever  a  copper  visage  revealed  itself,  a  rifle- 
ball  found  its  owner. 

They  attempted  to  five  the  prairie  grass,  and  the  wood  upon 
our  left,  but  both  were  too  green  to  burn.  It  was  a  fortunate 
circumstance,  for  it  would  have  driven  us  from  our  covert, 
when  we  should  have  been  exposed  to  a  destructive  volley. 
The  females  did  not  fail  to  perform  their  share  in  the  night's 
exploits.  They  reloaded  our  empty  weapons  with  a  coolness 
and  dexterity  worthy  of  emulation. 

After  the  first  onset  the  enemy  took  shelter  in  the  cotton- 
woods,  from  whence  they  poured  upon  us  a  continual  shower 
of  balls ;  but  we  were  protected  by  our  little  fort-,  upon  which 
the  harmless  lead  kept  pattering  incessantly. 

In  their  several  attempts  to  storm  us,  they  were  glad  to 
scamper  back  to  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 

"  Old  Ironsides  "  was  fearfully  busy.  When  that  cracked, 
a  fiercer  yell  rang  out  upon  the  night  air. 

"  I  told  you  they  know'd  this  bit  of  iron,"  said  Baptiste, 
wiping  the  burnt  powder  from  the  pan.  "They've  been  ac- 
quainted with  it  goin'  on  twenty  years,  and  they  know  its 
voice  as  well  as  I  know  Madge's.  It's  spoken  to  a  heap  oil 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  35 

'em,  and  the  heathen  creturs  are  ready  to  jump  e'enamost  out 
o'  their  skins  when  they  hear  it.  I  've  made  longer  shots 
with  old  Ironsides  than  has  ever  been  made  on  the  prairies 
afore  or  since.  I  can  fetch  down  a  buffalo  at  four  hundred 
yards ;  but  when  it  comes  to  them  red  Injuns,  I  pepper  'em 
at  six.  I  can  crease  one  on  'em  two  -  hundred  yards  further 
than  I  can  a  buffalo  or  a  wild  hoss.  But  three  hundred  yards 
is  about  the  right  thing,  as  it  gives  a  feller  a  chance  to  dis- 
play a  little  more  science  like.  I  shoot  'em  in  the  eye  at  that 
distance,  and  the  gentile  creturs  don't  like  that  style  of 
finishin'.  It 's  rayther  my  opinion,  if  you  should  go  out  and 
turn  over  some  of  the  varmints  in  the  morning,  you'd  find  a 
hole  in  their  greasy  featurs  right  where  an  eye  ought  to  be. 
That 's  my  mark.  I  'm  sure  to  make  it  in  the  day-time,  and 
they  know  it.  I  never  knew  but  one  chap  that  could  do  that, 
and  that  was  an  old  hoss  from  Texas,  and  he  'd  do  it  every 
time.  He  said  there  was  a  heap  o'  fun  in  it.  He  come  all 
the  way  up  here  to  practise,  and  thought  no  more  of  rubbin'  i 
out  a  heathen  tha'n  yOu  would  of  knockin'  down  a  turkey- 
buzzard." 

When  the  first  beam  of  daylight  reddened  the  west,  with  a 
loud  whoop  the  savages  left  us.  They  had  gained  nothing  in 
the  encounter ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  lost  many  of  their  num- 
bers. They  had  carried  away  but  few  of  their  dead,  and  we 
found  them  stark  and  stiff,  scattered  in  all  directions.  The 
Bpy  laid  on  his  face  near  the  camp. 

"  I  '11  wager  my  traps  that  that  Injun  cretur  is  shot  in  the 
eye,"  said  Leroy. 

With  his  foot  Basil  turned  him  over.  It  was  even  so ;  the 
ball  had  entered  the  organ  of  vision,  and  found  its  way  out 
the  back  of  the  head.  His  exit  had  been  sudden  and  easy. 
Many  Christians  die  harder  deaths  than  did  that  poor  Indian. 

Silver-Knife  relieved  him  of  his  scalp  with  remarkable  dex- 
terity ;  and  that  interesting  operation  he  performed  for  sev- 
eral that  morning. 

"  Does  no  good,"  he  said,  in  a  moralizing  way,  "  but  it 's 
the  custom  of  my  people.  Old  habits  strong.  Red  men 
can't  get  civilized  all  at  once,  as  the  pale  medicine  man 
thinks." 

We  did  not  think  proper  to  move  forward  that  day,  as  we 
might  fall  into  an  ambush.  Those  with  us  were  precious,  and 


36  SILVER-KNIFE : 

we  did  not  wish  to  expose  them  unnecessarily.  I  would  have 
faced  death  any  day  for  Madeleine,  although  I  felt  there  was 
an  insuperable  barrier  between  us. 

What  that  barrier  was,  I  knew  not ;  but  I  feared  the 
worst  —  that  she  could  not  regard  me  as  other  than  a  friend. 
Nothing  had  been  said  of  love,  it  is  true ;  but  she  could  not 
help  knowing  that  she  was  more  to  me  than  a  friend. 

But  my  friendship  was  not  selfish.  I  felt  as  deep  solicitude 
for  her  safety  as  I  should  have  done  had  she  lavished  upon 
me  all  the  wealth  of  her  affections. 

"We  ventured  out  but  little  during  the  day.  Basil  brought 
in  a  finger  that  had  evidently  been  shot  off  during  the  skir- 
mish. Silver-Knife  examined  it. 

"  That  grew  upon  a  white  man's  hand,"  he  said,  passing  it 
to  Leroy,  with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

The  old  guide  scrutinized  it  closely. 

"  That  bit  o'  human  flesh  never  come  off  o'  one  of  them 
Injun  creturs.  It  growed  on  as  white  a  hand  as  mine,  or  the 
doctor's.  Pity  it  had  n't  been  his  renegade  head.  I  'd  kinder 
like  to  bring  old  Ironsides  to  bear  on  him  once.  If  the  truth 
was  known,  I've  an  idee  he  an't  much  better  than  them 
copper-skin  individooals,  nor  hardly  so  good." 

It  was  now  my  turn  to  look.  It  was  indubitably  a  white 
man's  property.  But  what  was  he  doing  with  the  Indians  ? 

This  was  a  question  which  would  bear  several  construc- 
tions. To  me  it  was  another  link  in  the  chain  of  evidence  I 
had  been  collecting  of  a  lurking  enemy. 

If  my  thoughts  and  suspicions  were  tending  to  the  right 
point,  every  step  we  took  in  the  Indian  country  would  be 
attended  with  some  new  danger.  I  felt  the  need  of  counsel. 
•Silver-Knife  was  cautious  and  discreet. 

I  took  him  aside,  read  him  the  letter,  and  told  him  my  sus- 
picions. I  did  not  forget  the  fact  that  Basil  had  seen,  or 
thought  he  had  seen,  a  white  man  with  a  party  of  warriors, 
which,  taken  in  conjunction  with  the  letter,  the  man  I  had 
seen  at  Westport,  and  the  severed  finger,  tended  to  make  out 
quite  a  case. 

The  war-chief  heard  me  without  interruption. .  After  a 
long  silence  he  shook  his  head  gravely,  and  said, 

"  White  man  very  bad.  He  loves  the  Pale  Lily.  Let 
the  pale  medicine  man  beware.  If  serpents  went  upright, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  37 

we  could  see  them ;  but  they  crawl  in  the  grass,  and  no  sound 
gives  warning  of  their  approach.  Very  dangerous  is  the 
snake  in  the  grass." 

In  the  afternoon  Silver-Knife  went  out  to  reconnoitre.  The 
night  closed  in  before  he  returned.  He  had  seen  no  enemies. 
The  hours  of  darkness  passed  unmolested,  and  we  were  on 
the  "  winding  way  "  early  in  the  morning. 

I  will  not  dwell  with  tedious  minuteness  upon  every  step 
of  our  march.  It  would  tax  the  patience  of  the  reader  too 
severely.  After  six  days'  travel  from  our  camp  of  cotton- 
woods,  we  reached  the  North  Fork  of  Platte  river.  Nothing 
worthy  of  notice  occurred  during  this  time. 

It  was  now  the  20th  of  July.  Upon  looking  over  my 
papers,  I  found  the  following  in  my  diary  : 

"  July  20th.  —  I  have  now  sojourned  twenty  days  in  the 
wilderness.  And  for  what  ?  I  cannot  tell.  Danger  lurks 
in  every  step,  and  yet  I  go  on,  and  cannot  turn  back. 

"  Is  Madeleine  Leroy  the  magnet  that  attracts  me  hither  ? 
No,  it  cannot  be.  But  she  is  very  comely  to  look  upon ; 
yes,  more  than  comely  —  beautiful.  And  there  is  music  in 
her  voice,  too.  When  she  speaks,  I  wish  to  hear  no  other 
sound.  There  is  a  restless  light  in  her  eye  which  flashes  out 
at  times  like  sunlight.  I  am  always  near  her  —  never  tire 
of  riding  at  her  side.  She  is  a  skilful  horsewoman,  and  never 
looks  more  graceful  than  when  in  the  saddle.  A  charming 
girl  on  horseback  is  a  pleasant  sight,  and  dangerous  also. 

"  21st.  —  I  must  think  no  more  of  Madeleine.  I  must  fly 
from  her.  It  is  dangerous  to  linger  longer  at  her  side ;  but 
I  am  happy  only  there  ;  yet  I  talk  more  with  the  placid  Mary 
than  with  her.  I  feel  a  reserve  in  her  presence,  which  in- 
creases daily.  There  is  a  native  dignity  about  her  that  awes 
me.  I  believe  I  really  blush  in  her  presence.  I  cannot  ap- 
proach the  subject  nearest  my  heart. 

"22d.  —  This  is  unmanly.  I  was  never  abashed  in  the 
presence  of  ladies  of  the  highest  refinement.  I  do  not  tremble 
to  meet  an  enemy ;  and  yet  am  awkward  and  silent  beside 
this  child  of  nature  —  this  demi-savage.  *  *  *  *  * 

"  Silver-Knife  is  still  with  us.  He  is  the  noblest  specimen 
of  his  race.  He  says  we  are  now  in  the  Sioux  country.  We 
travel  with  great  weariness.  This  morning  I  saw  a  horse- 
man far  away  in  the  distance.  He  has  hovered  about  us 
4 


38  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

ever  since.  My  telescope  tells  me  he  is  not  an  Indian.  He 
seems  an  accomplished  horseman,  and  is  well  mounted.  What 
can  he  be  doing  alone  in  this  hostile  region  ?  I  cannot 
imagine."  ^^^^^^^^^ 

Upon  the  afternoon  of  the  23d  the  horseman  mentioned  in 
the  diary  was  seen  slowly  approaching.  As  he  advanced,  he 
was  an  object  of  much  interest.  He  maintained  his  seat  in 
the  saddle  with  ease  and  dignity.  In  person  he  was  some- 
what above  the  ordinary  size.  His  expression  was  grave  to 
moodiness.  His  features  could  not  justly  be  called  hand- 
some ;  but  they  were  noble,  notwithstanding  the  deepened 
color  which  the  prairie  suns  had  lent.  In  his  dress  there  was 
no  attempt  at  gaudiness  or  show.  If  he  had  any  peculiarity 
in  this  respect,  he  went  to  the  opposite  extreme. 

His  buck-skin  frock  was  without  any  pretensions  to  orna- 
ment; but  it  had  strength  and  durability.  The  same  will 
apply  to  his  deer-skin  breeches,  and  moccasins.  His  head 
was  covered  by  a  light  foraging-cap.  A  rifle,  the  workman- 
ship of  which  proved  it  a  costly  one,  was  slung  across  his  back. 
He  wore  side-arms  also,  according  to  the  custom  of  the  back- 
woodsmen. The  animal  which  bore  him  was  of  an  iron-gray 
•olor,  of  the  largest  proportions,  and  obviously  a  steed  of 
spirit  and  bottom. 

There  was  something  like  hauteur  in  his  manner  when  he 
returned  our  salutations,  and  I  felt  that  he  was  a  proud, 
moody  man.  He  seemed  startled  when  he  perceived  there 
were  females  with  us,  and  I  thought  his  eyes  rested  longer 
upon  Madeleine  and  Mary  than  was  absolutely  necessary. 
My  brow  contracted.  Perhaps  he  noticed  it,  for  his  finely- 
chiselled  lips  curled  as  if  in  scorn.  Wyandot  evidently  ex- 
cited his  admiration,  for  he  proved  a  connoisseur  in  horse- 
flesh. 

"  Where  is  your  camp,  stranger  ?  "  asked  Leroy. 

"  Where  the  night  finds  me,"  he  answered. 

"  Where  's  your  companions  ?  " 

"  I  have  none." 

"  I  reckon  you  don't  mean  to  tell  this  old  hoss  that  you  're 
all  alone  among  these  heathen  creturs." 

"  I  meant  as  I  said,  sir.  I  have  no  companions,  —  a  brave 
man  needs  none." 

"  Good  !  "  exclaimed  Silver-Knife.  "  The  white  brother  has 
a  big  heart." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  39 

"  What  keeps  you  from  being  shot  by  the  varmints  ?  "  asked 
Leroy. 

"  He  who  keeps  the  universe.  During  the  time  I  have 
been  a  pilgrim  in  these  wilds,  I  have  learned  wisdom  by  ex- 
perience. I  seldom  pass  a  night  very  near  the  trail  left  by 
emigrants  and  adventurers.  The  Indian  naturally  looks  for 
his  human  game  there.  I  seek  haunts  untrodden.  When  I 
lie  down  for  the  night  in  places  of  peril,  I  kindle  no  fire,  unless 
it  is  very  cold.  Many  prefer  comfort,  to  safety,  and  are 
scalped  by  the  light  of  their  own  fire.  I  do  not,  but  am  no 
coward  ;  no  man  dare  call  me  such.  I  value  life  but  lightly, 
and  it  would  cost  me  scarcely  a  regret  to  relinquish  it ;  but 
I  would  not  die  by  the  knife  of  a  savage." 

This*  was  said  in  a  voice  neither  condesending  nor  haughty, 
but  quiet.  If  Leroy  had  been  a  man  of  any  pretensions,  he 
would  not  have  said  so  much.  I  read  enough  of  his  nature 
to  know  that. 

"  Have  you  been  long  a  wanderer  in  this  wilderness  ?""  I 
interrogated. 

The  sound  of  my  voice  seemed  to  awaken  him  from  a 
dream.  For  a  moment  his  eyes  dwelt  upon  my  face  in 
earnest  scrutiny,  and  then  that  inexplicable  change  in  his 
expression  passed  away,  leaving  his  visage  stern,  dark  and 
moody,  as  before. 

I  had  to  repeat  the  question  before  he  appeared  to  hear  it. 

"  Longer  than  I  care  to  name,"  he  replied. 

"  You  are  well  acquainted,  then,  with  the  vicissitudes  of 
an  adventurer's  life." 

"  I  am,  doubtless." 

"  And  this  life  has  its  charms  for  you  ?  " 

'.'  Quite  as  many,  probably,  as  the  desert  had  for  Ishmael, 
or  as  the  land  of  Nod  for  Cain.  No  matter  where,  or  in 
what,  I  find  the  elements  of  my  happiness.  It  pleased  me  to 
come  here,  —  I  came." 

I  understood  well  the  hint  contained  in  this  rejoinder ;  but 
I  was  not  disposed  to  let  him  off  thus. 

"  You  had  no  particular  object  in  quitting  the  haunts  of 
civilization,  and  coming  hither  ? "  I  said,  looking  him  steadily 
in  the  face. 

"  Yes,  I  had  an  object  in  coming  here.  You  will  ask  me 
next  what  that  object  was." 


40  SILVER-KNIFE  I 

"  That  is  the  very  point  toward  which  I  was  verging,"  I 
answered. 

"  And  that  is  the  very  thing  I  shall  not  tell  you,"  replied 
he,  firmly.  "  Were  I,  in  turn,  to  ask  you  all  the  questions  you 
have  put  to  me  with  so  much  ease  and  assurance,  what  import- 
ant facts  should  I  become  the  possessor  of  ?  "  he  added,  after 
a  little  hesitation,  and  in  rather  a  sneering  tone. 

"  You  would  learn,  sir,  that  you  are  in  the  society  of  a 
gentleman  ;  that  his  name  is  Hartley  Ferguson  ;  and,  further- 
more, that  he  is  on  a  tour  to  the  Rocky  Mountains." 

"  And  for  what  ?  "  exclaimed  the  stranger,  with  more  inter- 
est than  he  had  hitherto  exhibited. 

"  That  is  a  subject  upon  which  I  cannot  be  very  explicit." 

"  For  the  good  reason  that  you  don't  know,  yourself,"  re- 
torted the  stranger. 

"  Exactly.  But  perhaps  you  can  tell  me,"  I  said,  ironi- 
cally. 

"  Yes,  I  could  tell  you  more  of  your  own  heart  than  you 
dream  of,  and  of  your  objects  also.  But  I  will  not.  Go 
and  see  how  you  '11  prosper.  Imagine,  if  you  will,  that  no 
one  can  penetrate  your  motives  (if  you  have  any) ;  that  you 
have  no  enemies,  no  obstacles  to  overcome ;  that  the  future  is 
spread  out  smooth  before  you,  like  this  prairie." 

The  stranger  said  this  in  a  more  serious  tone. 

"  I  like  the  '  plain  language.'  I  was  never  good  at  enig- 
mas. I  am  too  well  taught  to  allow  any  person  to  gain  an 
ascendency  over  me  by  mysticism,  and  the  assumption  of 
knowledge  which  cannot  in  the  nature  of  things  be  his,"  I  re- 
joined. 

The  stranger's  face  grew  darker.  The  heavy  brows  gathered 
a  deeper  frown. 

"  Young  man,  you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying,  or  whom 
you  are  addressing.  I  am  not  in  the  humor  for  jesting,  arid 
I  seldom  jest ;  badinage  will  do  for  fools,  but  not  for  men.  I 
have  said  nothing  but  what  you  have  provoked  me  to  say  ;  and, 
I  will  add,  nothing  but  the  truth.  I  did  not  question  you  — 
you  questioned  me ;  and  now  you  coolly  denounce  me  as  a 
pretender —  an  impostor." 

He  paused.  Then,  drawing  his  fine  figure  erect  in  the  sad- 
dle, and  fixing  his  eyes  sternly  upon  me,  added,  in  a  deep 
voice, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  4J 

"Look  at  me  ;  scan  me  from  head  to  foot  •  do  I  look  like 
the  miserable  charlatan  you  have  called  me?  Can  you  read 
impostor  in  a  single  line  of  my  face  ?  If  you  say  you  can, 
you  utter  a  vile  calumny.  Do  you  suppose  a  man  created  in 
God's  image,  gifted  with  a  living  soul,  and  breathing  the  free 
air  of  these  vast  plains,  prairies  and  mountains,  could  be- 
come the  petty  pretender  you  have  represented  me  to  be  ? " 

The  bold,  noble  bearing  of  the  man,  his  dignified  yet  im- 
petuous language,  all  combined  4o  produce  an  effect  in  his 
favor. 

"  I  confess,"  I  answered,  "  that  you  have  the  seeming  of  a 
man  of  honor  ;  and,  were  it  not  for  the  knowledge  you  have 
assumed  to  possess  in  regard  to  myself,  I  would  make  your 
quarrel  my  own  against  any  odds." 

"  Well,  we  will  not  bandy  words.  It  is  of  little  moment 
to  me  that  you  believe,  or  disbelieve  ;  but  with  you  it  is  not 
so.  It  is  important  for  you  to  believe  what  I  tell  you; 
that  is,  if  I  see  fit  to  tell  you  anything.  I  said  I  knew  more 
of  you  than  you  dreamed.  I  do.  Whether  the  knowledge 
I  possess  will  be  of  any  use  to  you,  let  the  future  reveal.  I 
do  not  wish  to  alarm  you,  but " 

"  I  am  not  alarmed." 

The  stranger  bit  his  lips,  and  proceeded, 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  alarm  you,  but  there  is  danger  near,  the 
nature  of  which  is  unknown  to  you.  I  doubt  if  you  have  a 
knowledge  even  of  its  existence.  I  fear  I  am  speaking  to 
faithless  ears  ;  but  time  determines  all  things,  —  let  it  decide 
this.  I  shall  see  you  again.  We  shall  meet  often  —  often 
when  least  expected  by  you.  Perhaps  you  will  lay  aside  a 
portion  of  your  pride,  and  feel  that  you  need  me.  Whether 
I  am  a  friend  to  you  or  an  enemy,  I  shall  not  tell.  Be 
assured  I  am  one  or  the  other.  I  am  an  earnest  man.  I' 
am  either  hot  or  cold.  Upon  any  subject  worthy  of  my 
thoughts,  I  am  never  indifferent.  There  are  but  very  few 
things  in  this  world  which  I  meddle  with.  I  am  not  within 
the  pale  of  the  world  you  have  just  left.  I  care  nothing 
about  it,  because  I  am  cut  off  therefrom,  and  don't  wish  to 
mingle  with  it  again.  I  ask  no  questions  in  regard  to  the 
lives  of  other  people,  and  wish  them  to  observe  the  same 
silence  in  relation  to  myself.  I  think  I  render  myself  intel- 
ligible. I  warn  you  to  look  to  your  safety,  and  the  safety  of 
4* 


42  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

those  with  you.     We  part  now.     You  will  not  have  time  to 
forget  me  before  we  meet  again." 

The  stranger  bowed,  and  before  I  had  well  recovered  from 
the  surprise  occasioned  by  his  words,  he  was  far  away. 

On  the  evening  of  the  23d,  the  following  was  written  in 
my  journal :  v 

"  Evening.  —  "We  are  encamped  on  the  North  Fork  of  the 
Platte.  On  one  side  the  prairies,  with  their  countless  acres, 
stretch  out  like  the  open  sea.  The  winds  come  creeping  softly 
over  them  to  play  solemn  dirges  in  the  low  pines  and  the 
stunted  oaks  that  grow  by  the  water.  The  music  is  low  and 
wailing,  and  fills  my  heart  with  memories  of  the  olden  time. 
I  am  dreary,  restless,  and  my  thoughts  are  incoherent ;  they 
wander  away,  and  then  return,  —  return  to  Madeleine  Leroy. 
Yes,  my  heart  is  full  of  Madeleine.  I  can  conceal  it  no 
longer  from  myself;  but  I  will  not  write  the  word  that  trem- 
bles in  the  ink-drop  upon  my  pen.  For  the  present  let  it  be 
unwritten.  It  is  enough  that  it  is  written  in  my  heart. 

"But  this  stranger!  Who  is  he  —  whence  came  he,  and 
what  is  he  to  me  ?  This  is  another  mystery  !  Who  may  say 
it  shall  not  make  another  chapter  in  my  history  ?  But  this  is 
absurd ;  my  curiosity  is  too  easily  aroused.  I  am  growing 

weak,  credulous .     But  I  will    forget.     The    human 

will  is  omnipotent  (so  they  say),  and  I  will  away  my  memory. 

"He  said  something  of  danger.  I  must  look  to  it;  no  evil 
must  come  upon  these  maidens.  Would  that  I  had  questioned 
him,  as  oracular  as  he  seemed.  But  I  was  too  proud  to  do 
that.  To-night  I  must  be  wakeful.  Yonder  I  see  the  object 
of  my  solicitude ;  she  smiles,  she  beckons  to  me,  and  I  go." 
*ifc  ****** 

The  evening  passed  pleasantly  in  the  society  of  Madeleine. 
A  portion  of  her  reserve  appeared  to  have  been  dissipated. 
I  was  also  more  like  my  true  self  than  usual.  I  tried  hard 
to  make  myself  agreeable,  and  succeeded.  I  did  not  take 
her  hand,  for  I  remembered  how  she  withdrew  it,  and  how  it 
shrank  and  trembled  in  mine. 

As  I  sat  by  the  fire,  I  noticed  Silver-Knife  sitting  by  him- 
self. His  countenance  was  gloomy  and  sad.  I  touched  him 
upon  the  arm,  but  he  did  not  heed  me. 

"  The  thoughts  of  the  war-chief  are  away  in  the  big  hills, 
with  the  Morning  Star  and  the  Singing  Bird,"  I  said. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  43 

"  The  pale  medicine  man  is  wrong.  The  thoughts  of  the 
red  chieftain  are  here.  He  has  read  the  signs  of  the  Great 
Spirit.  The  howl  of  the  prairie-wolf  tells*  him  of  danger 
near." 

"  The  prairie-wolf  howls  because  he  is  hungry.  Why 
should  the  heart  of  my  brother  be  heavy  ?  "  I  said,  in  reply. 

11  The  medicine  man  is  young.  He  is  fresh  upon  the 
prairies.  He  cannot  interpret  the  signs  which  are  plain  to 
the  red  man.  Not  so  with  Silver-Knife.  He  has  dwelt  in 
the  wilderness  from  infancy  to  age.  He  knows  when  the 
prairie-wolf  speaks  of  an  enemy,  or  when  the  boding  owl 
tells  of  disaster.  'T  is  thus  the  Great  Spirit  reveals  himself 
to  his  red  children.  He  speaks  to  the  white  man  in  written 
books.  The  Indian  cannot  read  the  books,  and  He  makes 
himself  known  to  him  in  a  different  way.  He  has  a  lan- 
guage for  all  people.  He  talks  with  them  through  things 
familiar ;  and  in  this  he  shows  his  wisdom." 

"  It  may  be  thus.  I  will  not  presume  to  say  how  the 
Great  Spirit  shall  communicate  with  his  red  children.  He 
knows  best  how  to  speak  to  the  different  tribes  and  kindreds 
of  the  earth,"  I  answered. 

"  The  prairie-wolf  has  told  the  war-chief  that  an  enemy  is 
lurking  near.  The  cry  of  the  boding  owl  has  warned  him  of 
trouble.  This  is  why  his  heart  is  heavy." 

The  Indians  have  many  such  superstitions  as  these,  and  I 
did  not  try  to  shake  his  belief  in  omens,  knowing  it  was  use- 
less ;  and,  truth  to  tell,  I  was  a  little  tinctured  with  that 
leaven  myself. 

Pondering  upon  these  things,  I  wrapped  myself  in  my 
blanket,  and,  placing  my  saddle  for  a  pillow,  resolved  to  be 
wakeful. 

I  remember  keeping  my  eyes  open  for  a  time,  and  gazing 
upon  the  stars ;  finally,  the  stars  seemed  to  twinkle  dimly, 
and  go  out  like  an  exhausted  candle.  Then  the  figure  of 
Silver-Knife  sitting  by  the  blaze  appeared  to  grow  indistinct 
and  fantastic,  until  it  was  a  dark,  undefined  object,  having  no 
outlines  but  darkness. 

I  remember  being  aroused  from  a  pleasant  dream  by  the 
discharge  of  fire-arms,  and  loud  shouts.  I  have  a  confused 
recollection  of  springing  to  my  feet,  of  a  terrible  shock,  and 
nothing  more.  When  the  dark,  dense  shadows  rolled  back 


44  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

'-. 

from  the  brain,  the  sun  was  shining.  My  obscured  sight 
grew  clear.  I  put  my  hand  to  my  head.  My  hair  was  satu- 
rated with  blood.'  I  raised  myself  slowly  to  a  sitting  posture, 
and  looked  about  me.  No  person  was  in  sight.  I  was  alone. 
Scattered  around  me  were  tokens  of  fight  —  an  arrow-head, 
a  hatchet,  a  splintered  ramrod,  a  pistol  broken  from  the 
stock,  and  a  savage  stark  and  stiff. 

With  a  vague  idea  of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  me,  I 
arose  to  my  feet.  The  baggage-wagon  was  where  I  last  saw 
it,  but  most  of  its  valuables  were  gone.  One  of  the  mules 
I  saw  grazing  at  a  short  distance,  and,  a  little  further,  Wyan- 
dot. 

Where  were  my  friends  ?  was  the  query  that  pressed  itself 
upon  me  with  overwhelming  force.  Alas  !  the  answer  was 
but  too  evident. 

I  threw  myself  upon  the  earth,  and  a  full  sense  of  my 
wretchedness  and  desolation  came  home  to  my  soul.  All  my 
buoyancy  of  spirit,  all  my  hopes  of  the  far-stretching  future, 
all  the  freshness  and  elasticity  of  youth,  seemed  gone.  I 
begged  for  tears,  but  they  would  not  come.  O,  no  !  I  could 
not  weep,  though  my  eye-balls  were  burning.  There  is  solace 
in  tears,  though  it  be  unmanly  to  weep. 

The  breezes  that  floated  in  wscvy  undulations  over  the 
green  prairie-grass  came  like  accusing  spirits,  to  mock  me 
with  the  utter  hollowness  of  all  human  expectations.  The 
nutter  of  the  leaves,  as  they  turned  themselves  joyously  toward 
the  smiling  sun,  was  to  me  as  the  last  note  of  a  funeral  dirge, 
which  tells  us  we  shall  see  the  face  of  the  loved  no  more. 
The  monotonous  dash  of  the  waters,  in  their  pilgrimage  to  the 
sea  and  the  haun4s  of  civilization,  told  me  that  I  also  was  to 
be  a  wanderer,  seeking  the  rest  I  was  never  to  find. 

I  heard  the  birds  sing  in  the  branches  of  the  pines ;  but 
there  was  no  more  melody  in  their  notes.  The  breath  of  the 
balmy  West,  laden  with  the  perfume  of  the  fern,  the  wild 
sage,  and  the  thousand  flowers,  was  no  longer  grateful  to  my 
nostrils.  The  senses  were  closed  against  every  gentle  artifice 
of  nature  to  beguile  me  of  grief.  I  was  only  alive  to  one 
consciousness  —  that  of  having  lost  something  which  had  be- 
come so  dear  to  me  that  I  could  not  exist  without  it.  I  was 
selfish  —  I  confess  it.  My  thoughts,  my  fears,  my  agony, 
wore  only  for  Madeleine.  Even  the  good  Mary  was  forgotten 
in  the  greater  solicitude  which  I  felt  for  her  sister. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  4*> 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

WICKLIFFE. 

I  AROSE  and  looked  to  the  sky.  The  sun  had  performed 
three  hours  of  his  diurnal  journey.  I  had  given  way  to  un- 
manly weakness,  and  sat  down  to  lament,  when  I  should  have 
girded  my  loins  for  action. 

I  went  down  to  the  river's  bank,  drank  deeply  of  its  cool 
waters,  and  washed  the  red  stains  from  my  matted  hair. 
My  thoughts  took  a  more  natural  tone.  Something  tangible 
in  relation  to  what  I  ought  to  do  stood  out  before  me. 

I  "now  looked  about  for  something  to  strengthen  and  invig- 
orate my  outward  man ;  not  that  I  felt  the  gnawings  of  ap- 
petite, but  because  I  had  a  purpose  to  fulfil,  arid  wished  for 
strength  to  accomplish  it. 

I  found  enough  dried  buffalo  to  answer  my  purpose,  and, 
having  swallowed  with  some  effort  -my  simple  fare,  I  was  sit- 
ting upon  the  earth  indulging  yet  one  moment  longer  in  the 
luxury  of  sorrow,  when  a  sound  caused  me  to  look  up. 

The  stranger,  whom  I  haid  met  and  parted  with  the  night 
before,  stood  near.  He  was  holding  his  horse  by  the  bridle, 
having  approached  unheeded. 

"  I  told  you  we  should  meet  again  before  you  had  time  to 
forget  me,"  he  said,  calmly. 

A  sudden  thought  crossed  my  brain,  and  I  acted  upon  it  as 
suddenly. 

Approaching  the  unknown,  I  laid  my  hand  quietly  upon 
his  shoulder ;  but  my  quietness  was  significant  of  a  fixed 
purpose.  With  my  right  hand  I  pointed  to  the  smouldering 
camp-fire,  and  the  deserted  camp. 

"  Do  you  know  aught  of  this  ? "  I  asked,  looking  him 
sternly  in  the  eye,  while  my  voice  was  thick  and  hoarse  with 
contending  emotions. 

"  I  see  what  you  see,"  he  answered. 

"  Do  not  evade  me.  To-day  I  am  not  in  a  mood  to  be 
trifled  with.  It  would  have  answered  yesterday,  but  it  will 
not  now.  Your  language  of  last  eve  leads  me  to  suspect 
you." 


46  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"  Of  what  ? "  asked  the  unknown,  in  the  same  unmoved 
tone. 

"  Of  foul  play,"  I  answered,  tightening  my  grasp  upon  his 
shoulder. 

"  In  short,  that  I  incited  the  Indians  to  attack  and  scalp 
your  friends,  I  suppose  you  mean,"  he  added. 

"  I  do  mean  that." 

"  Then  you  wrong  me,  for  I  did  not." 

There  might  have  been  something  of  bitterness  in  the  man- 
ner in  which  he  uttered  this,  but  there  was  also  much  of 
earnestness,  and  something  else  which  I  could  not  understand 
at  the  time. 

With  an  exclamation  of  contempt,  I  pushed  him  from  me, 
and  turned  away. 

"  Stay  !  "  said  the  unknown. 

I  paused. 

"  What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  You  say  you  understand  my  movements ;  why  do  you 
ask  ?  You  are  the  very  man,  of  all  other  men,  who  ought  to 
know  all  about  it,"  I  retorted,  with  a  sneer ;  but  he  stood 
calm  and  quiet. 

"  You  probably  intend  to  find  the  Indian  trail  and  follow 
it.  Did  you  ever  follow  an  Indian  trail  ?  " 

"  No,  I  never  did,"  I  answered,  mechanically. 

"  How,  then,  can  you  expect  to  succeed  ? " 

This  was  by  no  means  an  unreasonable  question,  and  I 
made  no  reply. 

"Arid,  providing  you  should  follow  the  trail,  and  come  up 
with  the  Indians,  what  would  you  do  then  ? "  the  stranger 
continued.  ^ 

I  was  still  silent. 

"You  would  probably  be  killed  and  scalped  before  you  had 
time  to  say  your  prayers." 

•"  What  would  you  have  me  do  ? "  I  asked,  doggedly. 

"  I  would  have  you  be  a  man.  Be  prudent,  cool,  resolute, 
and  by  no  means  refuse  the  help  of  a  strong  arm  and  a_  prac- 
tised eye." 

"  Where  shall  I  find  the  strong  arm  and  the  practised  eye, 
you  speak  of?" 

"  Both  are  here,"  replied  the  stranger,  pointing  to  himself. 

"  But  I  care  not  to  trust  you.     I  am  suspicious  of  you. 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  47 

Where  the  intention  is  good,  there  need  be  no  mystery.  I 
hate  mystery." 

"  No  matter  if  you  do.  Get  your  horse  and  prepare  to  go 
on  the  long  and  dangerous  trail. '*> 

"  Then  you  really  intend  to  bear  me  company  ?  " 

"I  do,  although  it  is  likely  to  prove  a  thankless  piece  of 
business.  See  !  your  fine  animal*  is  grazing  quietly  yonder, 
arid  the  sun  is  far  up.  Remember,  every  moment  spent  in 
inaction  is  a  moment  lost." 

"  First  tell  me  your  name,"  I  replied. 

"  Wickliffe ;  you  may  know  me  by  that  name.  Now  get 
your  horse." 

I  am  naturally  a  reflective  person.  The  storms  which 
crush  the  spirit,  and  bow  the  stout  heart,  pass  quickly  over, 
leaving  me  calm  as  a  statue,  and  unflinching  as  iron.  Could 
one  look  into  my  soul,  he  would  still  find  traces  of  the  tem- 
pest ;  but  upon  the  brow,  and  in  the  eye,  he  would  discover 
no  sign. 

It  was  thus  with  me  at  that  crisis.  The  sudden  evil  jjiat 
had  befallen  me  and  my  friends  had  prostrated- me  at  firet, 
but  two  hours  of  reflection  restored  my  manhood.  I  was 
strong,  if  not  hopeful,  and  I  will  not  say  I  was  not  even 
hopeful ;  for  hope  clings  to  one  in  every  extremity.  I  was 
now  ready  to  act,  as  well  as  think. 

It  was  evident  (to  me)  that  the  catastrophe  had  been 
brought  about,  not  by  the.  Indians  solely,  but  by  the  instiga- 
tion of  a  white  man. 

I  had  several  reasons  for  this  belief.  If  it  had  been  the 
work  of  savages  alone,  my  friends  would  have  been  killed, 
and  scalped  on  the  spot;  or,  at  least,  such  would  have  been 
the  fate  of  some  of  them. 

The  females  possibly  might  have  been  spared,  but  that  was 
extremely  doubtful,  as  they  did  not  scruple  to  imbrue  their 
hands  in  the  blood  of  both  sexes. 

Where  were  Silver-Knife,  Leroy,  and  Basil  ?  If  they  were 
slain,  where  were  their  bodies  ?  If  they  were  living,  why 
did  they  desert  me  ?  The  Indians  might  have  commenced  the 
attack  so  suddenly  that  the  females  had  been  captured  before 
a  blow  had  been  struck,  and  I  had  been  awakened  by  the 
first  alarm.  My  friends,  seeing  me  fall,  and  supposing  I  had 
already  departed  on  the  trail  of  death,  pursued  the  flying  foe 


48  SILVER-KNIFE : 

to  rescue  the  captives.  All  this  looked  reasonable.  I  felt 
quite  sure  the  whole  affair  had  been  planned  and  executed  by 
a  white  man,  with  a  view  to  get  Madeleine  and  Mary  into 
his  power. 

A  white  man  had  undoubtedly  participated  in  the  other 
night  attack,  as  the  severed  finger  would  attest. 

The  next  query  that  arose  was,  who  is  Wickliffe  ?  Can 
he  be  trusted  ?  If  he  had  not  had  the  usual  number  of  digits, 
I  should  have  said  no ;  but  he  was  not  deficient  in  that 
particular. 

Although  there  was  something  about  the  man  which  marked 
him  superior  to  deceit,  I  resolved  to  watch  him.  Wickliffe 
looked  like  a  true  man,  and  I  could  not  but  confess  it  to 
myself. 

Influenced  by  motives  which  I  could  not  fathom,  he  had 
volunteered  to  guide  me  on  the  Indian  trail  —  a  very  difficult 
and  dangerous  mission. 

He  took  the  lead,  as  if  he  was  to  be  the  principal  actor,  as 
a  matter  of  course.  The  trail,  at  first,  it  required  no  gr&yt 
sagacity  to  find,  for  the  imprint  of  horses'  feet  upon  the  prai- 
rie-grass was  very  legible,  bearing  away  to  the  right  of  the 
Platte. 

Our  progress  was  not  very  rapid,  as  Wickliffe  had  to  dis- 
mount often,  and  lead  his  horse  by  the  bridle,  in  order  to  be 
certain  that  we  were  on  the  trail. 

.  "  Some  of  your  friends  are  on  the  trail,  for  a  certainty," 
said  he,  as  he  examined  attentively  the  horse-tracks. 

"  Hew  can  you  tell  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  By  the  iron  hoofs,"  he  replied. 

I  examined  the  ground,  and  the  imprint  of  a  horse-shoe 
was  distinctly  visible. 

"  It  is  evident,  at  any  rate,"  added  Wickliffe,  "  that  your 
friends'  horses  have  gone  this  way,  whether  they  were  in  the 
saddles  or  not.  But  it  is  my  impression  that  they  went  of 
their  own  accord,  and  as  free  men ;  for  in  many  places  I 
notice  that  the  iron  tracks  are  not  on  the  trail,  as  they  would 
naturally  be  had  they  been  prisoners.  Instead  of  following 
its  windings,  they  take  a  straight  course,  and  come  upon  it  at 
the  next  sweep.  No  person  but  an  old  trapper  could  do  that, 
or,  rather,  would  run  the  risk  of  doing  it,  for  one  inexpe- 
rienced might  lose  the  trail  altogether." 


9 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  49 

This  was  cheering  news  to  me.  If  Silver-Knife,  Leroy, 
or  Basil,  or  all  of  them,  were  in  pursuit  of  the  victorious 
party,  I  had  much  to  hope.  In  that  case,  cunning  and  ability 
were  happily  united.  Few  backwoodsmen  could  hope  to  'suc- 
ceed where  they  had  failed.  We  traversed  the  wide  prairie 
during  the  day,  and  encamped  upon  it  when  it  became  too 
dark  to  see  the  trail.  Our  preparations  for  camping  did  not 
require  much  time.  We  gathered  a  few  dry  limbs,  kindled 
a  fire,  ate  our  hunter's  fare,  and  wrapped  ourselves  in  our 
blankets.  Our  beasts  fared  better  than  ourselves,  for  the 
grass  was  abundant. 

A  night  on  the  open  prairie  is  lonely  enough  under  ordi- 
nary circumstances,  but  in  the  situation  in  which  I  was 
placed  it  was  rendered  doubly  so.  The  hours  rolled  solemnly 
away,  and  sleep  refused  to  visit  my  eyelids. 

The  one  idea  of  Madeleine  in  danger  was  ever  present  with 
me.  I  pictured  her  in  every  variety  of  suffering.  I  saw  her 
in  the  power  of  savages,  toil-worn  and  bleeding.  I  saw  her 
dragged  forth  for  the  torture.  I  saw  the  lurid  flames  licking 
up  her  blood.  And  then  I  beheld  her  in  the  power  of  a  disap- 
pointed and  remorseless  libertine,  perhaps  the  very  person 
I  had  seen  at  St.  Louis  and  Westport. 

You  can  easily  imagine,  with  all  these  fancies  crowding 
through  my  brain,  my  dreams  were  few.  About  two  o'clock 
I  sank  into  one  of  those  slumbers  in  which  the  mind  loses  but 
half  its  consciousness. 

I  was  aroused  by  Wickliffe,  who  shook  me  by  the  shoulder. 

"  You  have  been  groaning  in  your  sleep  for  the  last  hour," 
he  said.  "  Th^  sun  is  rising.  It  is  time  we  were  on  the 
way." 

Our  breakfast  of  buffalo-meat  was  soon  despatched.  A 
smart  ride  of  three  hours  took  us  off  the  prairie  into  a  coun- 
try broken  by  hills  and  ravines,  studded  with  oak,  cotton- 
woods,  birch,  and  walnuts. 

The  difficulties  of  the  trail  now  commenced.  The  Indians 
had  probably  covered  their  horses'  feet  with  buffalo-skins; 
and  the  iron  hoofs  of  my  friends'  animals  could  be  no  longer 
seen. 

We  were  now  at  fault.     The  trail  lost  its  individuality, 
and  scattered  in  all  directions.     This  was  a  device  of  the  In- 
dians to  avoid  pursuit. 
5 


50  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"  Your  friends  lost  the  trail  here,  or  adopted  the  Indian 
plan,  and  wrapped  their  horses'  feet  in.  buffalo-skins,"  said 
Wickliffe,  who  never  appeared  at  a  loss  to  account  for  every- 
thing he  saw.  It  was  now  that  he  evinced  his  deep  knowledge 
of  Indian  character.  No  object  escaped  his  attention.  A 
stone  displaced,  a  spire  of  grass  trodden  down,  a  bent  twig, 
were  sufficient  to  mark  the  trail.  But  at  first,  with  me, 
these  things  passed  unnoticed.  By  noon  we  reached  a  spot 
where  the  Indians  had  evidently  camped. 

"  I  think  they  must  be  a  war-party  of  Crows,"  said  my 
companion.  "  The  place  which  they  selected  for  their  lodge, 
and  the  manner  of  building  a  fire,  makes  me  pretty  certain  on 
this  point.  If  I  am  right  in  my  conjectures,  their  course  is 
towards  the  Big  Horn  river." 

The  cautions  of  the  pursued  party  increased  at  every  step. 
About  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  after  toiling  up  a  long 
hill,  we  descended  into  a  deep  valley,  traversed  by  a  brook  of 
considerable  width.  The  trail  had  been  growing  fainter  for 
the  last  hour,. and  we  now  lost  it  altogether. 

For  a  moment  Wickliffe  was  at  a  loss ;  but  when  he  per- 
ceived the  brook  his  countenance  cleared  up. 

"  Ah !  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  said.  "  They  have  taken  to 
the  water." 

He  now  informed  me  that  this  was  a  stratagem  frequently 
adopted  by  war-parties  to  baffle  pursuit,  and  that  they  often 
walked  in  the  bed  of  a  brook,  or  shallow  stream,  several 
miles,  being  careful  not  to  disturb  the  stones  or  weeds  at  the 
bottom,  or  splash  the  water  upon  the  banks.  I  had  read  of 
such  things,  but  did  not  really  think  they  wote  true,  —  now  I 
was  convinced. 

Wickliffe  directed  me  to  cross,  and  follow  upon  the  oppo- 
site bank,  while  he  went  forward  upon  the  other.  By  ob- 
serving the  signs,  we  hoped  to  discover  when  the  trail  left  the 
bed  of  the  brook.  We  dismounted,  led  our  horses,  and 
walked  on  in  silence  for  an  hour,  without  finding  any  signs  of 
a  trail.  Wickliffe  now  crossed  the  brook. 

"  Here  is  grass,"  he  said.  "  Our  beasts  are  hungry. 
Let  them  feed  here,  and  I  will  go  forward  while  you  watch 
them." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  51 

CHAPTER   IX. 

A   PANTHER. 

I  HOBBLED  the  horses,  and  sat  down  beneath  a  sycamore, 
while  Wickliffe  went  on.  I  was  very  weary,  and  my  eyes 
were  heavy  for  want  of  sleep.  The  monotonous  murmur  of 
the  brook,  the  leaves  sighing  in  the  sc^ft  wind,  the  birds  sing- 
ing in  the  trees,  soothed  my  senses,  and  lulled  me  into  a 
slumber. 

What  a  pity  that,  when  the  overwrought  mind  thus  forgets 
its  burden  of  misery,  the  spell  could  not  last  forever  —  that 
the  weary  soul  might  sleep  out  the  years  of  its  eternity  with- 
out one  interval  of  waking  ! 

Why  had  it  not  been  appointed  that  when  the  worldly 
struggle  is  over,  the  aching  lids  should  close  in  death,  as  the 
tired  child  drops  its  playthings  and  falls  to  sleep  in  some 
sunny  spot. 

Why  must  we  feel 

"  The  sickness,  the  nausea, 
The  pitiless  pain," 

and  that 

"  Horrible,  horrible  throbbing  "  7 

I  have  thought  of  it  nights  and  nights,  and  wondered  why 
a  living,  breatljlpg  creature,  called  man,  was  invoked  into 
life  to  writhe  and  die  like  a  wretched  worm. 

From  my  deep  sleep  I  was  aroused  by  a  noise  at  my  side. 
Upon  opening  my  eyes,  the  two  horses  were  crowding  close 
to  me,  as  if  for  protection,  while  they  trembled  in  every  joint. 
I  looked  about  me,  but  could  see  no  cause  for  alarm,  and 
concluded  they  had  been  frightened  by  some  animal  whije 
feeding  at  a  distance,  and  had  not  yet  recovered  their  spirit. 

The  sun  had  just  settled  away  behind  the  blue  ridges  of 
the  distant  Sierra,  and  the  time  of  twilight  had  come ;  and  a 
soft,  dreamy,  mellow  twilight  it  was.  it  was  to  me  just  what 
I  had  pictured  an  Italian  sunset.  But  little  time  was 
allowed  me  to  please  myself  with  such  an  illusion,  for  my 


6  J  SILVER-KNIFE : 

attention  was  again  called  to  the  strange  conduct  of  the 
horses. 

They  pressed  as  near  me  as  possible,  while  their  expanded 
nostrils,  glowing  eyes,  trembling  limbs,  and  low  neighs,  attested 
extremest  fear. 

I  now  began  to  be  sensible  there  must  be  a  cause  for  such 
demonstrations,  and  mechanically  followed  the  direction  of 
their  fixed  eyes  with  mine.  Heavens !  I  saw  a  sight  which 
sent  the  blood  tingling  through  my  veins  as  if  it  had  been 
commingled  with  atoms  of  ice.  Standing  upon  a  branch  of  a 
large  sycamore  which  gfew  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  brook, 
was  one  of  those  animals  so  dreaded  by  all,  and  so  terrible  to 
Indians,  —  a  panther,  large  as  a  tiger,  fierce  as  a  hyena. 

It  will  be  impossible  for  me  to  forget  the  sensations  that 
overpowered  me  at  that  moment,  though  they  were  not  of  a 
nature  to  explain  and  dilate  upon. 

The  eyes  met  my  gaze  like  two  living  coals  set  in  a  seal  of 
darkness,  and  emitted  burning  sparks.  I  saw  the  hissing 
jaws  open,  and  a  tongue  like  a  heated  iron  thrust  out.  There 
was  that  peculiar  fury  and  malignity  leaping  from  the  cat-like 
visage  that  tells  of  a  purpose  too  fixed  and  deadly  to  be 
diverted  or  delayed. 

I  tried  to  summon  all  my  firmness,  to  look  back  his  hate 
without  flinching.  The  power  of  my  eye  appeared  to  arrest 
him  in  the  act  of  springing.  He  turned  and  walked  back  and 
forth  on  the  limb,  with  quick,  nervous,  restless  motions,  lashing 
his  sides  with  his  long  tail,  and  uttering  low,  threatening  growls. 

At  length  he  came  out  on  the  limb  toward  me  as  far  as 
possible,  and  stood  still,  save  a  slight  wavy  mjtion  of  the  tail, 
and  a  quivering  of  the  lips.  I  knew  enough  01  the  nature  of 
the  animal  to  be  aware  that  he  was  preparing  to  spring  upon 
me.  It  was  a  fearful  moment,  and  the  poor  dumb  Wyandot 
participated  keenly  in  the  intense  interest  thereof;  but  the 
panther  did  not  make  the  fearful  leap.  He  turned  and 
walked  back  once  more  on  the  limb,  as  if  on  purpose  to  tan- 
talize and  keep  me  in  horrible  suspense.  After  this  act  of 
bravado,  he  assumed  his  former  attitude,  looking  more  threat- 
ening, if  possible,  than  before.  His  back  was  gracefully 
curved,  and  every  hair  Appeared  to  stand  erect,  while  he  grad- 
ually and  slowly  settled  back  upon  his  haunches.  I  knew 
what  that  meant,  and  brought  my  double-barrelled  rifle  delib- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  53 

erately  to  my  shoulder.  There  was  a  single  white  spot  upon 
his  breast.  It  was  a  beautiful  niark,  and  I  levelled  the 
"  sights  "  down  to  it  with  a  calm  hand. 

1  fired,  and  the  next  instant  was  prostrated  by  a  huge, 
hairy  body,  which  came  against  me  like  a  gigantic  ball.  With 
loud  snorts,  the  horses  ran  away  as  fast  as  their  hobbles  would 
permit.  Though  somewhat  stunned,  and  confused  by  the 
shock,  I  gathered  myself  up  as  quickly  as  possible.  The 
panther  lay  at  my  feet  in  the  last  spasm  of  death.  I  was 
standing  beside  the  quivering  mass  of  flesh  when  Wickliffe 
made  his  appearance. 

"  That  was  well  done,""  he  remarked,  in  his  usual  unmoved 
manner.  "  You  exhibited  nerve  worthy  of  an  old  trapper." 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  "  I  asked  coolly,  quietly  blow- 
ing the  smoke  from  the  empty  barrel,  as  though  nothing  more 
than  ordinary  had  happened. 

"  Because  I  saw  it  all.  My  rifle  has  been  levelled  on  that 
animal  for  the  last  three  minutes.  If  you  had  not  fired  when 
you  did,  I  should  have  saved  you  the  trouble.  The  panther 
is  the  most  fearful  animal  on  the  prairies,  save  a  Camanche 
or  a  Blackfoot,"  replied  Wickliffe. 

Upon  measuring  the  animal  with  my  ramrod,  he  was  found 
to  be  about  thirteen  feet  from  the  tip  of  the  snout  to  the  end 
of  the  tail. 

Wickliffe  assured  me  it  was  one  of  the  largest-sized  Ameri- 
can panthers. 

"  Well,  what  success  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Have  you  found  the 
trail  ?  " 

"  No,  but  Lijhave  killed  a  buffalo,  and  brought  away  his 
hump  in  triumph ;  so,  with  your  consent,  we  will  kindle  a  fire, 
and  test  our  gastronomic  powers." 

We  soon  piled  a  heap  of  fagots,  and  a  cheerful  blaze 
leaped  up.  I  ate  with  a  better  appetite  than  I  had  felt  for 
the  two  preceding  days;  for  a  buffalo  hump  is  a  delicious 
morsel  for  a  hungry  man. 

Wickliffe  was  more  companionable  than  usual.  A  portion 
of  the  chilling  reserve  which  had  characterized  him  hitherto 
seemed  forgotten ;  but  he  was  still  digmifiedv  mysterious,  and 


That  was  one  thing  I  had  against  him  —  he  was  too  self-  ^ 
possessed.     It  was  annoying,  and  gave  me  a  feeling  of  infe-  * 
5* 


54  SILVER-KNIFE  I 

riority,  to  see  a  man  so  calm  and  self-reliant  on  all  occasions. 
It  appeared  like  one's  setting  himself  up  for  more  than  he  was 
worth. 

But  that  night  Wickliffe  was  modified  and  mellowed  down 
to  something  like  an  equality;  and  that,  too,  without  any 
effort.  In  short,  nothing,  apparently,  cost  him  an  effort. 

I  was  desirous  of  knowing  more  of  him  ;  what  brought  him 
to  the  desert;  whence  he  came ;  who  he  was;  what  he  had 
been,  &c. ;  but  such  questions  he  evaded,  and  considered  im- 
pertinent. 

What  on  earth  could  induce  him  to  take  such  an  interest 
in  me  ?  for  in  me  he  obviously  did  take  an  interest.  Though 
he  had  not  declared  himself  my  friend,  I  no  longer  felt  sus- 
picious or  fearful  of  him.  His  actions  had  done  more  to 
reassure  me  than  his  words ;  for  of  words,  those  playthings  so 
cheap  with  everybody  else,  he  was  chary. 

"  I  wonder  you  neyer  took  to  a  profession,"  I  remarked,  as 
we  sat  by  the  blazing  fire. 

"  What  are  professions  ? "  he  said,  with  a  sneer.  "  They 
are  solemn  lies.  The  majority  of  professional  men  are  mis- 
erable quacks.  An  honest  man  among  them  is  a  black  sheep 
in  the  flock.  It  is  so  with  the  three  learned  professions  — 
Medicine,  Divinity,  Law.  All  stuff — the  profession  of  an 
honest  man  is  worth  them  all." 

"  Remember,  sir,  that  I  am  a  professional  man,"  I  rejoined, 
with  some  asperity. 

"  Know  that  J  am  something  of  a  professional  man  also, 
or  at  least  was ;  but  I  disclaim  the  whole  of  it  now,  and 
hourly  strive  to  forget  what  I  learned  years  ag^" 

"  And  wherefore  ? "  I  asked. 

"  I  could  tell  you,"  he  replied,  contracting  his  brows  darkly, 
"  but  what  would  it  avail.  Medical  students  are  vampires  ; 
they  have  no  fixed  principles  of  right ;  they  do  not  respect 
the  dead.  Go  into  those  horrible  shops  of  human  butchery, 
and  see  what  I  have  seen  ;  go  and  see  miserable  tricks  played 
upon  the  dead;  go  and  see  them  insulted,  till  their  dead 
hands  seem  ready  to  lift  up  and  protest  against  the  living ; 
go  and  hear  the  remouseless  gibes,  obscene  jests  and  revmngs,1 
that  are  poured  forth  daily  in  those  festering  shambles." 

"You  forget  that  I  have  been  through  the  mill,"  I  re- 
torted, with  a  forced  laugh.  "  You  wanted  nerve,  man.  You 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  55 

would  never  have » answered  for  a  resurrectkmst.  The  first 
touch  of  the  cold  human  clod  would  have  sent  you  shuddering 
away,"  I  added. 

"  Not  so,  sir,"  he  replied,  sharply.  "  To  my  everlasting 
regret,  I  once  performed  that  most  terrible  of  all  midnight 
operations  —  the  raising  of  a  body.  I  was  not  afraid ;  I 
never  was  afraid  of  the  dead.  I  can  take  hold  of  a  dead 
man's  hand  as  calmly  as  I  can  take  yours.  If  there  was  not 
a  higher  and  holier  principle  involved,  I  could  unearth  a  hu- 
man body  as  calmly  as  I  can  eat  my  supper.  But  there  is 
something  that  whispers  to  the  inward  consciousness,  and 
says,  '  Let  the  dead  rest.'  I  have  heard  it  ever  since,  and 
cannot  turn  therefrom." 

"  Tell  me  the  story.  It  will  serve  to  beguile  the  long  night 
hours  before  us.  Anything  is  better  than  bad  dreams." 

"  I  will,"  he  answered,  "  in  the  hope  that  it  may  forever 
deter  you  from  such  practices.  Do  not  think  I  take  a  pleas- 
ure in  telling  you ;  it  is  anything,  everything  but  that.  Like 
Cardenio,  I  cannot  bear  interruption  ;  therefore  do  not  say  a 
word  after  I  commence." 

It  was  quite  dark ;  for  the  moon  and  stars  shone  dimly. 
A  deep  stillness  settled  down  upon  the  woody  wilds,  broken 
only  at  long  intervals  by  the  distant  bark  of  the  prairie-wolf. 
The  bright  fire  burned  fitfully,  and,  leaping  upward  in  forked 
jets,  seemed  feeding  upon  air;  but,  as  the  fagots  tUat^ gave  it 
life  crumbled  and  grew  smaller  and  smaller,  it  took  a  steadier 
and  more  solemn  mood,  and  varied  as  Wicklifie's  story 
varied. 


CHAPTER  X. 

WICKLIFFE'S  ADVENTURE. 


"  I  WAITED  several  days  for  a  dark,  rainy  night,"  said  Wick- 
liffe.  "  But  no  dark,  rainy  night  came.  The  sun  set  without 
a  cloud.  The  moon  came  up  serene  and  beautiful,  and  shone 
down  upon  the  new-made  grave.  The  girl  had  slept  longer 
than  Lazarus;  for  she  had  been  shrouded  and  earthed  a 


56  SILVEE-KNIFE  : 

week.  I  knew  well  where  she  lay ;  I  saw  them  when  they 
placed  her  there,  and  flung  the  clods  upon  her ;  and  after- 
ward I  saw  them  go  there  at  mild  eventide  to  weep.  The 
mound  had  been  raised  with  great  care.  Green  turf  had  been 
cut,  and  laid  over  it,  with  mechanical  nicety.  Love  could  do 
no  more  than  this;  for  the  weepers  were  poor.  Affection 
would  have  reared  a  column  of  marble,  but  poverty  sternly 
forbade  it.  The  name  of  the  sleeper  was  written  only  in 
tears,  and  her  memory  embalmed  only  in  loving  hearts. 

"  I  was  thirsting  for  knowledge.  My  sharp  scalpels  had 
never  tasted  human  gore ;  I  had  never  imbrued  my  fingers 
in  human  mortality.  I  longed  to  look  into  the  organs  of 
mind,  to  trace  aqueducts  of  the  heart  wherein  courses  the  subtle 
principle  of  animal  life,  and  examine  the  infinitude  of  nervous 
expansion  and  ramification.  I  had  waited  long  for  an  oppor- 
tunity, and  struggled  with  my  better  nature.  An  '  oppor- 
tunity '  was  now  offered. 

"  It  had  been  whispered  to  me  that  she  was  wasting  away, 
and  dying.  The  thought  flashed  through  my  mind  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning  —  the  thought  which  some  will  call 
fiendish — -to  wrest  her  from  the  grave  when  she  was  given 
over  to  the  worm.  The  suggestion  seemed  too  cool  and  delib- 
erate, and  I  strove  to  banish  it ;  but  it  was  in  vain.  I  found 
myself  almost  involuntarily  maturing  and  carrying  out  the 
idea.  At  first  there  was  something  terrible  in  it.  It  was 
too  much  like  waiting  for  Death,  and  encouraging  him  to  a 
deed  which  he  was  in  no  haste  to  acccomplish.  At  length 
the  idea  became  familiar.  I  inquired  daily  of  the  villagers 
if  she  was  dead.  . 

"  The  struggle  was  over  at  length.  The  spirit  went  back 
to  its  origin,  and  the  earth  to  its  kindred  clods. 

"  The  slow,  solemn  pealing  of  the  bells  startled  me.  I  seemed 
to  have  had  some  agency  in  the  death  of  the  girl.  There 
was  something  reproachful  in  the  woe-begone  appearance  of 
the  humble  mourners  as  they  passed  me  with  their  stricken 
heads  low  bent.  I  followed  the  funeral  cortege.  I  saw  the 
body  lowered  to  "what  they  destined  to  be  its  final  resting- 
place. 

"  The  prayers  said  for  the  poor  are  brief;  and  those  were. 
The  mourners  tottered  away  from  the  sound  of  the  falling 
earth,  more  crushed  in  appearance  than  before.  I  was  ready 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  57 

to  forego  niy  purpose ;  for  those  sobs  and  those  tears  were 
directed  at  me. 

"  An  hour  over  *  Wistar '  and  '  Bell '  restored  me  to  my- 
self and  my  purpose.  But  time  did  not  favor  me.  I  wanted, 
as  I  have  said,  a  dark  night ;  for  the  church-yard  was  in  the 
heart  of  the  village,  and  I  could  not  perform  the  deed  with- 
out a  mantle  of  darkness  around  me. 

"  Several  times  it  clouded  up  in  the  morning,  and  I  nattered 
myself  that  a  favorable  night  would  set  in.  But  no ;  the 
clouds  lifted,  the  fine  misty  rain  ceased  to  distil,  and  the  sun 
went  down  leaving  a  clear  sky  and  starry  nights ;  and  the 
benign  moon  still  looked  upon  the  new-made  grave.  For 
a  week  the  shrouded  girl  waited  for  the  worm. 

"  The  seventh  night  was  propitious.  Dark  clouds  coursed 
across  the  heavens,  and  a  drizzling  rain  came  down.  With 
the  necessary  implements  for  exhuming  the  body,  I  awaited 
the  hour  of  midnight  in  my  office.  Various  emotions  filled 
my  bosom,  as  I  paced  impatiently  up  and  down,  and  across 
my  room.  Melancholy  sounds  crept  through  the  keyhole. 
Chilly  gusts  of  wind  sighed  fitfully  through  the  window-case- 
ments, and  made  spiteful  dashes  at  my  lamp.  The  fire  burned 
with  a  sort  of  moody  solemnity,  and  made  uncouth  shadows 
upon  the  wall,  which  danced  about  like  living  things. 

"  I  tried  to  sleep  in  an  arm-chair  until  the  hour  arrived ; 
but  I  heard  the  clock  tell  all  the  hours,  and,  though  I  closed 
my  eyes,  the  shadows  on  the  wall  flitted  before  me,  while  my 
ears  were  open  to  the  dirges  the  wind  seemed  singing  for  the 
departing  minutes. 

"  I  was  conscious  of  mysterious  influences,  hitherto  unfelt, 
unknown,  and  unfeared. 

"  Reason  came  to  my  aid.  I  thought  of  the  course  I  had 
marked  out  for  myself,  the  great  arcana  of  science  which 
it  was  mine  to  explore ;  and  strove  to  brush  away  the  illu- 
sion I  had  conjured  into  life,  as  I  would  brush  away  cob- 
webs. 

"  The  clock  struck  twelve,  at  last,  and  I  made  preparations  to 
go  forth.  First  I  drew  on  a  large  overcoat  (borrowed  for  the 
occasion),  which  covered  me  from  head  to  heel.  Through  the 
handle  of  the  spade  I  passed  a  handkerchief,  which  was  made 
fast  about  my  neck.  Over  this'  I  buttoned  the  capacious 
coat,  which  effectually  concealed  it  from  view.  Then  taking 


58  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

a  chisel  and  mallet  in  my  hand,  and  a  large  coffee-sack  under 
my  arm,  I  opened  the  door  and  stepped  out  into  the  dark 
midnight.  The  gusty  breath  of  the  dreary  storm  met  me 
with  a  mysterious  chilliness,  as  if  to  warn  me  back. 

"  Slouching  my  hat  over  my  eyes,  and  grasping  my  imple- 
ments tighter,  I  directed  my  steps  to  the  grave-yard.  I 
crossed  a  long  bridge,  keeping  assiduously  in  the  middle,  in- 
stead of  on  the  walks  at  the  sides,  for  fear  the  wind,  in  a 
sudden  fit  of  anger,  might  lift  me  up  and  dash  me  down  into 
the  tumbling  waters  beneath. 

"  A  thousand  whimsical  and  exaggerated  ideas  and  fears 
rushed  into  my  brain  at  once,  to  deter  me  from  the  contem- 
plated deed;  but  I  was  nerved  up  to  it.  My  thirst  for 
knowledge  liad  become  a  mania,  an  impulse  capable  of 
bearing  down  anything  in  its  way. 

"  My  own  footfall  upon  the  bridge  had  an  indescribably  hol- 
low, sepulchral  sound,  —  something  like  the  first  clods  falling 
upon  a  coffin  in  mid-winter,  when  the  ground  is  frozen.  I 
quickened  my  pace,  and  felt  relieved  when  I  could  no  longer 
hear  the  sullen  roar  of  the  waters,  and  the  solemn  echoes. 
No  lights  were  gleaming  in  the  streets,  and  none  from  the 
windows,  save  where  friends  kept  untiring  vigils  by  the  sick. 
The  whole  village,  as  I  caught  dim  and  shadowy  outlines 
thereof,  took  on  the  air  and  aspect  of  some  ancient  burial- 
place.  I  looked  about  me  for  the  ghouls  and  gnomes  that  flit 
mournfully  about  uncanny  places. 

"As  I  neared  the  last  home  of  mortality,  I  felt  a  sickly 
coldness  at  my  heart,  as  though  an  icy  hand  had  been  laid 
thereupon,  checking  its  free  and  healthful  motions.  I  passed 
the  old  church  where  prayers  had  been  said  over  the  girl  be- 
fore they  laid  her  away  to  sleep.  In  fancy  I  heard  the  sub- 
dued tone  of  the  man  of  Grod,  and  saw  the  bereaved  ones 
pressing  close  to  the  coffin  as  they  came  out. 

"  Without  pausing,  I  clambered  over  the  gate  which  opens 
only  at  the  approach  of  death.  When  would  it  make  space 
for  me  to  enter  ?  The  Maker  of  the  world  only  could  an- 
swer, and  He  was  silent ;  for  why  should  He  commune  with 
the  earthly  born  ? 

"  I  stood  among  the  graves  —  I  who  hoped  one  day  for  a 
peaceful  grave.  How  dismal  that  night  was!  what  awful 
whispers  came  on  the  wings  of  the  wind  !  I  groped  along 
cautiously,  stumbling  over  the  graves. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  59 

^  Strange  sensations  are  experienced  in  walking  among  the 
graves  at  midnight  —  an  ^indefinable  creeping  of  the  flesh, 
which  it  is  utterly  out  of  my  power  to  describe.  Few  have 
the  coolness  and  courage  equal  to  the  nameless  terrors  of 
such  a  situation. 

"  I  fell  upon  a  mound,  and,  by  a  rapid  operation  of  the  mind, 
measured  it,  and  knew  it  to  be  precisely  my  own  extended 
length.  There  was  something  revolting  in  the  consciousness 
that  my  length  corresponded  with  that  of  the  grave.  I  sprang 
from  the  wet  ground  as  though  a  deadly  serpent  had  fastened 
his  fangs  upon  me. 

"  1  stood  beside  her  grave,  at  last.  I  knew  it  by  the  new 
turf  that  had  been  laid  thereon. 

"  It  was  the  year's  Autumn.  The  earth  was  slightly  stiffened 
with  frost  which  the  misty  rain  had  not  yet  thawed.  This 
circumstance  was  against  me,  for  the  cut  and  approximated 
edges  of  the  turf  were  frosted  together,  and  could  not  be  re- 
placed so  as  to  assume  their  present  appearance,  and  would 
not  until  cold  nights  had  again  exerted  their  influence. 

"  I  hesitated  ;  but  it  was  for  a  moment  only.  Throwing 
off —  or,  more  properly,  striving  to  —  the  superstitious  fears 
that  assailed  me,  as  I  threw  off  my  overcoat,  I  strove  to  im- 
agine myself  as  calm  as  the  marble  monuments  about  me,  or 
as  those  who  slept  beneath  them. 

"  Upon  my  knees,  and  bending  over  the  grave  until  my  face 
nearly  touched  the  earth,  I  examined  it  as  well  as  the  intense 
darkness  would  permit.  A  flat  stone,  vertically  placed, 
marked  the  head.  With  my  hands  I  carefully  removed  the 
turf  about  t  one-third  the  length  of  the  grave.  Fortunately, 
the  sods  clung  together  so  tenaciously  that  the  piece  was  not 
broken,  but  retained  its  peculiar  and  original  form. 

"  Grasping  the  spade  with  a  kind  of  desperation,  I  forced  it 
into  the  ground  with  my  foot.  How  loud  the  harsh,  grating 
noise  sounded  !  How  it  jarred  upon  my  nerves  !  I  threw  out 
spadeful  after  spadeful,  until  out  of  breath.  Reeking  with 
perspiration,  I  paused  to  rest.  As  I  stood  there  a  large  mas- 
tiff, belonging  to  one  of  the  nearest  dwellings,  came  out,  and 
putting  his  fore-paws  upon  the  fence,  barked  and  howled 
furiously.  He  was  large  enough  to  tear  me  limb  from  limb, 
and  the  idea  occurred  to  me  that  such  was  his  intention. 

"  But  I  had  met  the  fellow  several  times  in  the  village,  and 


60  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

he  had  always  recognized  me  with  a  good-natured  leer  of  the 
eye,  a  friendly  wag  of  the  tail,  and  a  manifest  desire  to  cul- 
tivate my  friendship ;  what,  then,  ailed  the  dumb  creature,  and 
why  such  demonstrations  of  hostility? 

"  Did  he  know  I  had  no  business  there  ?  It  would  seem  so, 
for  he  .kept  up  such  a  fierce  bavking  and  growling  that  I  be- 
gan to  fear  for  the  safety  of  my  enterprise.  I  sat  down 
upon  the  grave  and  remained  perfectly  motionless,  in  a  frame 
of  mind  which  no  living  creature  could  envy  —  not  even  the 
dog  who  bayed  at  me. 

"After  what  appeared  an  interminable  age  of  suspense,  the 
savage  mastiff  ceased  his  noise.  Congratulating  myself  there- 
upon, I  recommenced  operations  with  an  energy  almost  super- 
human. 

"An  agonizing  fear  of  discovery,  and  its  terrible  conse- 
quences, together  with  a  feverish  wish  to  succeed,  and  certain 
unaccountable,  nameless  terrors,  were  sufficient  incentives  to 
such  exertions.  Imprisonment  and  disgrace  would  be  the 
inevitable  results  of  detection.  I  knew  all  this ;  and  what  a 
blow  it  would  be  for  me !  But,  happily,  it  was  very  dark. 
At  that  moment  I  looked  up,  and,  to  my  consternation,  the 
rain  had  ceased  to  fall;  the  clouds  had  lifted,  and  the  round, 
full  moon  was  looking  down  upon  the  grave  I  stood  in.  I 
dropped  the  spade  in  sheer  vexation  and  alarm.  A  score  of 
the  villagers  might  look  out  of  their  windows  and  see  my 
operations.  My  ruin  seemed  inevitable.  What  should  I  do  ? 
Should  I  steal  from  the  grave-yard  and  leave  my  work  unfin- 
ished, or  should  I  risk  all  by  staying  to  accomplish  it  ? 

"  I  quickly  decided  on  the  latter  course.  The  very  desper- 
ateness  of  the  undertaking  gave  me  strength,  ana  an  irresist- 
ible desire  to  succeed.  My  nerves  grew  firm,  and  my  mind 
became  calm.  I  weighed  all  the  chances  for  and  against  me, 
and  looked  the  danger  in  the  face  without  flinching.  If  I 
succeeded,  —  exhumed  a  body  in  the  middle  of  a  populous 
village  on  such  a  night,  within  a  stone's  cast  of  a  dozen 
dwellings,  —  I  should  accomplish  a  deed  of  daring  no  other 
person  would  have  thought  of.  I  grasped  the  spade,  and 
worked  as  I  have  never  done  before  or  since,  save  on  one 
occasion,  when  I  worked  for  life  at  a  pump,  with  a  sinking 
ship  beneath  me. 

"  I  had  soon  heaped  the  cold,  damp  earth  all  around  me.  A 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  61 

nauseous  odor,  oozing  through  the  porous  earth,  came  from  a 
neighboring  grave,  the  occupant  of  which  had  been  longer 
with  the  worm  and  winding-sheet.  0,  wha't  a  sickly  savor  of 
mortality  !  Poor  human  nature,  to  what  vileness  dost  thou 
sink  at  last ! 

"•A  sound  indescribably  hollow  and  disagreeable  assured 
me  that  my  spade  had  struck  upon  the  coffin.  I  scraped  it 
bare  as  far  as  the  lid  turned  back.  Friends  had  taken  their 
last  look  of  the  dead  face  by  means  of  that  same  lid. 

"  This  done,  I  commenced  cutting  thrpugh  with  the  chisel 
and  mallet ;  but  here  another  difficulty  excited  my  alarm  — 
my  blows  might  attract  too  much  attention,  and  lead  to  my 
detection.  To  avoid  this,  I  wrapped  my  handkerchief  about 
the  mallet,  which  deadened  the  resonance  of  the  blows.  This 
expedient  answered  my  expectation.  In  a  short  time  I  had 
effected  my  object,  and  removed  the  movable  portion  of  the 
lid.  I  involuntarily  started  as  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the 
winding-sheet  —  the  dress  of  Death. 

"  But  a  more  terrible  sensation  crept  over  me  when,  stoop- 
ing, I  put  my  hand  into  the  coffin,  and  laid  it  upon  the  cold, 
cold  face  of  the  dead  girl.  Merciful  Father !  would  my 
body  ever  become  as  icy  in  its  coldness  ? 

"  With  a  half-expressed  wish  that  God  would  pardon  what 
I  was  doing,  I  wound  my  fingers  into  the  long  black  hair, 
lifted  her  head  from  her  hard  pillow,  and  dragged  her  forth. 
The  aperture  I  had  made  was  small,  and  it  required  all  my 
strength  to  wrest  the  body  from  the  grave.  Once  I  thought 
I  should  not  succeed ;  but,  throwing  my  arms  about  the  corpse, 
I  wrenched  it  away  with  a  sudden  effort. 

"  I  laid  her  down  by  the  desecrated  grave,  and  the  quiet 
moon  and  the  twinkling  stars  threw  their  pale  beams  upon  the 
wasted  face.  How  white  and  ghastly  it  was,  with  the  con- 
trasted hair  lying  disordered  upon  the  cheeks ! 

"  Conscience-smitten  and  awe-struck,  I  stood  irresolute, 
and  gazed  upon  her  who  came  forth  '  bound  in  her  grave- 
clothes,'  though  not  as  Lazarus.  But  it  was  no  time  for  nice 
reflections.  Thrusting  the  body  into  the  sack,  I  turned  my 
attention  to  other  matters.  The  grave  was  to  be  re-filled, 
and  all  traces  of  my  work  obliterated.  Adjusting  the  lid  as 
well  as  I  could,  I  threw  back  the  earth  as  fast  and  with 
as  little  noise  as  possible.  I  was  not  long  in  accomplishing 
6 


62  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

this ;  then,  laying  aside  the  spade,  I  scraped  up  the  loose  earth 
with  my  hands,  and  replaced  the  turf  I  had  removed,  with 
the  greatest  care.  This  part  of  the  transaction  required 
patience  and  coolness,  and  the  exercise  of  no  little  ingenuity. 
It  was  accomplished  at  length,  and  I  breathed  easier.  I  ex- 
amined what  was  so  recently  a  grave  from  every  point,  and 
.straightened  up  the  grass  I  had  trodden  down. 

"  I  had  still  a  dangerous  part  of  the  business  to  perform 
—  carry  the  subject  through  the  village  upon  my  back.  Put- 
ting on  the  overcoat  which  had  answered  rny  purpose  so  well, 
I  arranged  my  implements  as* at  first,  and  then,  lifting  that 
strange  burden,  threw  it  across  my  shoulders. 

"How  heavy  mortality  is!  —  how  the  living  flesh  shrinks 
from  it !  I  have  carried  many  burdens,  but  never  one  like 
that.  It  was  thin  and  wasted  too  ;  but  the  laws  of  gravita- 
tion seemed  to  act  upon  it  in  a  wonderful  degree.  I  asked 
myself  with  a  shudder  if  the  *  spirits  that  walk  in  darkness,' 
and  the  vampires  that  suck  up  human  gore,  were  not  seated 
on  my  shoulders,  to  weigh  down  and  tantalize  me. 

"  That  load  of  mortality  chilled  me ;  and  I  constantly 
changed  its  position,  the  sensation  was  so  unpleasant. 

"  Once,  when  I  stumbled  and  came  near  dropping  it,  by 
some  « cantraip  art '  the  bony  arms  appeared  to  grasp  and 
cling  to  me.  I  instinctively  quickened  my  pace,  as  for  fear 
the  uncatnny  beings  who  had  power  jthere  at  midnight,  and 
who  had  been  beholding  my  work,  and  menacing  me,  would 
not  permit  me  finally  to  escape. 

"  I  reached  the  bridge  without  interruption.  To  my 
alarm,  I  saw  a  man  pacing  back  and  forth  upon  it  like  a  sen- 
tinel. Laying  down  the  '  subject,'  and  crouching  by  it,  I 
observed  him  for  some  time.  Once  he  came  within  ten  feet 
of  me,  and  I  was  obliged  to  lie  flat  upon  my  back,  and  mo- 
tionless as  stone. 

"  When  nearest,  I  recognized  him.  It  was  S ,  an  ac- 
quaintance, who  had  evidently  had  his  suspicions  excited  by 
some  of  my  movements,  probably  by  seeing  a  fire  in  my 
ofiice  so  late.  Perhaps  the  fellow  saw  me  go  toward  the 
grave-yard,  and  was  congratulating  himself  in  the  idea  of  a 
grand  discovery,  and  a  fright. 

"Now,  as  good  luck  would  have  it,  there  was  another 
bridge,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  below,  by  which  I  could 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  63 

reach  my  office.  When  S turned  on  his  heel  and  walked 

from  me,  I  availed  myself  of  the  opportunity  to  walk  off 
toward  the  other  bridge. 

"  A  cold  sweat  stood  on  my  forehead  when  I  reached  my 
office,  and  I  felt  a  weary  ache  in  iny  eyes.  I  deposited  the 
body  in  a  box  prepared  for  the  occasion.  Strange  sensations 
came  over  me  as  I  stood  there  alone  with  the  dead,  in  the 
dim  lamp-light. 

"  Often  since  that  night,  in  the  illusions  of  dreams,  and 
the  delirium  of  fever,  the  vision  of  that  pale,  wasted  face, 
and  the  dishevelled  waves  of  contrasted  hair,  has  been  present 
with  me.  I  could  not  forget  them ;  they  were  always  at 
my  pillow, —  ever  pictured  on  the  field  of  mental  vision.  I 
have  seen  her  everywhere.  Yesterday  I  met  her  in  the 
street;  last  night  I  saw  her  in  dreams;  and  I  shall  to- 
night. She  never  speaks ;  but  her  look  tells  me,  « You  have 
broken  my  rest.' 

"  I  never  meet  those  who  wept  for  her,  when  I  can  avoid 
it.  I  shun  them  as  I  shun  my  enemies.  They  are  my  ene- 
mies, and  their  presence  seems  to  accuse  me  of  some  crime. 
One  of  those  who  went  to  the  grave,  *  to  weep  there,'  had  her 
eyes,  and  her  face,  and  I  never  look  at  her.  I  feel  reproved, 
guilty,  unhappy,  when  she  is  near. 

"  But  I  will  dwell  no  longer  upon  this  picture.  I  will  not 
write  of  the  weary,  dreary  nights  I  spent  over  that  poor 
body.  Deeply  the  features  became  engraved  upon  my  memory. 
For  many  weeks  I  was  alone  with  her  and  the  scalpel.  I 
sacrificed  my  best  feelings  to  my  thirst  for  knowledge ;  I 
hardened  myself  to  the  work ;  but  I  shall  never  do  it  again  — 
never  wrest  the  dead  from  the  '  still  house,'  where  loving 
hearts  have  laid  them.  I  will  not  say  it  is  a  crime ;  but  it 
is  revolting. 

"  When  I  sleep,  like  Lazarus,  in  the  '  cave '  of  death,  and 
the  '  great  stone  '  (which  is  affection)  is  rolled  up  to  its  mouth, 
let  me  rest  there  with  my  sleep  unbroken,  save  by  the  bright 
dreams  which  eternity  may  reveal." 

I  was  silent  for  a  moment  after  Wickliffe  had  ceased. 
"  And  you  renounced  the  profession  of  medicine,"  I  said, 
at  length. 

"I  did,  and  have  never  taken  a  scalpel  in  my  hand  since. 


64  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

I  am  sick  of  the  traffic  in  human  bodies.  I  wish  to  think 
and  hear  of  it  no  more.  Never  mention  it  again  to  me, 
especially  within  hearing  of  an  Indian." 

"And  why  not  before  an  Indian  ?  " 

"  They  would  shun  me  as  they  would  the  pestilence  that 
walketh  in  darkness.  They  dread  and  hate  a  man  who  has 
violated  a  grave." 

"  This,"  added  Wickliffe,  after  a  pause,  "  you  may  con- 
sider rather  a  melancholy  story,  and,  if  you  do  not  yet  feel 
disposed  to  sleep,  I  will  relate  another,  of  a  different  char- 
acter. 

I  signified  that  I  should  like  to  hear,  being  too  restless  to 
think  of  slumber.  Having  heaped  fresh  fagots  on  the  fire, 
Wickliffe  proceeded  as  follows  in  the  next  chapter. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

A    BEAR    STORY. 

"  I  WAS  once,"  he  resumed,  "  encamped  in  a  deep  and 
thickly-wooded  dell,  near  the  head  waters  of  Ice  river.  On 
either  side,  high  mountains  reared  thteir  cloud-defying  heads. 
Large  rivers  and  small  streams  with  difficulty  found  their 
way  into  a  more  open'  and  less  broken  country,  through  lonely 
passes  and  rocky  ravines,  known  and  accessible  only  to  the 
forest-born,  or  the  daring  foot  of  the  hardy  free-trapper. 

"I  had  wandered  many  weeks  in  that  wild  and  savage  re- 
gion, dared  its  gloomiest  solitudes,  and  scaled  its  loftiest 
cliffs.  I  had  not  turned  aside  for  red  men  and  beasts  of 
prey,  and  had  met  both. 

"  Hitherto  game  had  been  abundant,  and  I  had  not  found 
it  difficult  to  supply  all  the  demands  of  appetite ;  but  for  the 
past  few  days  I  had  seen  no  signs  of  buffalo,  or  other  game, 
and,  as  I  seldom  prepared  anything  for  future  use,  I  began  to 
be  in  want  of  the  common  necessaries  of  life.  My  ammuni- 
tion was  also  exhausted,  the  last  charge  of  powder  and  ball 
being  then  in  my  rifle.  I  was  far  from  any  civilized  beings 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  OO 

who   could   or  would  supply  my  wants,  .Fort  Walla- Walla 
being  the  nearest  trading-post. 

"  To  a  man  who  felt  himself  bound  to  the  earth  by  strong 
and  endearing  ties,  this  would  have  been  certainly  a  dismal 
prospect;  and  even  to  me,  as  misanthropically  as  flowed  my 
blood,  it  was  far  from  cheering. 

"But  I  am  not  a  man  to  be  discouraged  when  aught 
depends  on  my  own  exertions;  difficulty  and  danger  give 
me  strength,  and  my  position  must  indeed  be  perilous  when  I 
cannot  modify  the  adverse  circumstances  by  which  I  am 
surrounded. 

"  I  resolved  to  meet  boldly  the  difficulties  which  now  pre- 
sented themselves. 

"  Without  food  I  could  not  lead  the  wandering  life  that 
suited  my  mood,  and  without  ammunition  how  was  I  to  pro- 
cure the  flesh  of  the  buffalo,  the  deer,  or  the  mountain  sheep  ? 

"Already  I  felt  the  gnawing  tooth  of  hunger,  for  I  had 
fasted  twelve  hours,  and  during  that  time  travelled  many 
miles  over  prairies,  across  hills,  and  through  lonely  gorges 
in  the  mountains.  My  faithful  steed,  exhausted  and  covered 
with  foam,  was  feeding  near  me,  in  not  much  better 
plight  than  myself ;  but  his  troubles  would  soon  be  over,  for 
the  banks  of  the  river  were  green  with  grass  of  a  luxuriant 
growth. 

"  My  horse  turned  loose  to  help  himself,  my  arrangements 
for  camping  were '  soon  made ;  for  I  had  learned  from  the 
free-trappers,  as  well  as  by  experience,  that  the  most  simple 
preparations  were  the  best  in  a  country  where  white  men  are 
considered  lawful  prey. 

"The  slight  shelter,  designed  more  for  protection  against  the 
night-dews  than  for  anything  else,  being  completed,  I  shoul- 
dered my  rifle  arid  walked  away  in  quest  of  game. 

"It  was  one  of  those  mild,  still  days  in  August;  when  there 
is  not  a  breath  of  wind  afloat.  The  sun  was  at  that  point  in 
the  heavens  which  indicates  that  but  an  hour  more  of  day- 
light remains. 

"  With  considerable  difficulty,  for  I  was  weak  with  long 
fasting,  I  clambered  from  the  bottom  of  the  dell,  and  gained 
the  higher  lands  that  hemmed  it  in.  From  the  elevation 
which  I  had  now  attained  little  could  be  seen  save  the  rough 
sides  of  the  Blue  Mountains,  the  summits  of  which  w,ere  lost 


66  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

in  clouds.  Look  upward  which  way  I  would,  naught  but 
wild  mountain  scenery  met  my  view;  while  down  below  me 
were  valleys,  gorges,  running  rivers,  and  ravines. 

"  The  Bannecks,  Eutaws,  Shoshonies,  Skynses,  Flatheads, 
Nez  JPerces,  and  occasionally  predatory  hordes  of  Blackfeet, 
frequented  these  sterile  regions  as  hunting-grounds.  Here 
also  came  the  white  trappers,  during  certain  months,  to  take 
peltries. 

"  Woe  to  those  so  unfortunate  as  to  be  surprised  by  the 
Blackfeet  warriors !  and  they  sometimes  were,  in  spite  of  all 
their  vigilance. 

"  I  strained  my  eyes  in  every  direction,  but  saw  no  signs 
of  game.  I  put  my  ear  to  the  ground  and  listened ;  the  neigh 
of  the  elk,  and  the  lowing  of  the  buffalo,  I  heard  not.  Dis- 
appointed in  my  expectations,  I  began  to  ascend  the  mountain 
at  the  base  of  which  I  was  standing,  in  the  hope  of  getting  a 
shot  at  a  species  of  mountain  sheep  called  the  Big-horn,  or 
ahsahta,  which  frequent  those  latitudes. 

"As  I  was  urging  my  way  upward,  a  deep,  threatening 
growl  arrested  my  steps.  I  had  reached  a  small  spur  of  the 
mountain  covered  with  a  stunted  growth  of  shrubbery,  with 
here  and  there  a  small  pine  or  sycamore,  to  relieve  the  mo- 
notony. I  glanced  warily  about  me  to  learn  whence  the  men- 
acing sound  proceeded.  I  could  see  nothing  to  excite  alarm. 
I  made  a  few  steps  forward,  when  my  ears  were  hailed  a 
second  time  by  the  same  ominous  growl,  and  it  was  nearer 
and  more  distinct  than  before.  I  knew  it  did  not  proceed 
from  a  wolf,  for  wolves  are  cowardly,  and  run  at  the  first  ap- 
proach of  danger.  The  animal  that  flies  not  from  the  pres- 
ence of  man  is  to  be  dealt  with  with  caution.  Directly  before 
,me  was  a  birch  of  considerable  size.  I  stepped  a  few  paces 
to  the  right,  in  order  too  look  beyond  it. 

"As  little  as  I  cared  for  life,  and  as  worthless  as  the  world 
seemed,  a  feeling  of  dread  crept  over  me  as  I  perceived,  full 
in  my  path,  at  about  the  distance  of  twenty  yards,  a  grizzly 
bear  of  enormous  growth.  He  stood  in  a  defiant  attitude, 
and  greeted  me  with  a  growl  of  still  fiercer  meaning.  I  had 
presence  of  mind  enough  to  meet  his  eye  boldly,  without  any 
signs  of  shrinking.  He  regarded  me  with  a  cool,  inquisitive 
look,  by  no  means  satisfactory;  and,  putting  forth  a  large,  red 
tongue,  tasted  my  flesh  and  blood  in  perspective.  My  posi- 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  67 

tion  was  a  most  embarrassing  one.  To  fly  would  be  folly,  to 
fire  would  be  the  signal  for  my  destruction ;  for  what  is  a  single 
rifle-ball  in  the  shaggy  hide  of  a  grizzly  bear  ?  My  only 
safety,  then,  was  in  maintaining  my  ground,  and  looking 
Bruin  out  of  countenance  —  certainly  a  very  discouraging 
and  unpromising  task,  in  this  case. 

"A  movement  on  the  part  of  my  antagonist  called  back  my 
attention  to  him,  and,  as  my  eyes  wandered  to  meet  his  once 
more,  they  fell  upon  a  painted  face,  and  eyes  that  glittered 
like  a  serpent's.  I  comprehended  the  extent  of  my  danger  at 
once.  The  red  visage  was  that  of  a  savage,  but  of  what 
tribe  I  could  not  then  determine ;  nor  did  it  matter  much,  so 
long  as  it  was  obvious  that  his  presence  boded  no  good. 

"  If  I  escaped  the  teeth  of  Bruin,  I  was  doubtless  fated  to 
fall  by  the  hand  of  the  Indian.  Here  was  indeed  a  dilemma 
which  required  much  coolness  and  considerable  philosophy. 
To  be  eaten  by  the  beast  was  at  variance  with  all  my  notions 
of  '  coming  to  an  end,'  and  to  be  scalped  by  a  savage  was 
equally  repugnant  to  my  feelings;  for  I  had  a  mortal  aver-- 
sion  to  those  free-born  rovers,  of  whatever  name.  In  my  deal- 
ing with  the  red-skins,  I  had  experienced  but  little  save 
treachery  and  deceit ;  although,  in  one  or  two  instances,  I  had 
been  befriended  by  the  Shoshonies  and  Skynses.  To  deter- 
mine what  course  to  pursue  was  the  work  of  a  few  seconds 
only.  I  resolved  to"  give  the  savage  the  benefit  of  my  last 
charge,  and  take  my  chance  with  the  bear,  let  the  conse- 
quences be  what  they  would.  I  raised  my  rifle  slowly  and 
levelled  it  at  Bruin,  who  testified  his  disapprobation  of  the 
act  by  a  threatening  display  of  teeth,  and  sundry  ill-natured 
snarls. 

"  During  this  movement  I  was  careful  to  keep  my  eye  on 
the  Indian,  who,  perceiving  that  I  was  about  to  fire,  stretched 
his  long  neck  from  behind  the  tree  that  concealed  the  greater 
part  of  his  body,  to  watch  the  result,  anticipating,  unques- 
tionably, rare  diversion.  In  his  eagerness  to  see  the  sport, 
he  stepped  entirely  from  his  hiding-place.  'Now  was  the 
favorable  moment.  Wheeling  suddenly,  I  brought  my  rifle 
to  bear  upon  him,  and  fired. 

"The  Indian  staggered  a  few  steps,  and  fell. 

"The  bear  reared  savagely  upon  his  hinder  feet,  opened  his 
mouth  to  a  frightful  width,  and  emitted  a  .long,  angry  growl. 


68  SILVER-KNIFE  1 

"  Dropping  my  rifle  before  the  smoke  had  ceased  curling 
from  the  barrel,  I  grasped  the  lower  branches  of  the  tree 
which  I  have  alluded  to,  and  climbed  with  such  vigor  that  I 
was  soon  perched  upon  the  highest  limbs  capable  of  sustaining 
my  weight. 

"  This  demonstration  on  my  part  put  Bruin  in  a  towering 
passion.  Two  or  three  clumsy  bounds  took  him  to  the  foot 
of  the  tree,  the  bark  of  which  he  tore  off  with  his  teeth, 
while  with  his  sharp  claws  he  dug  up  the  earth,  and  sent 
the  dirt  rattling  among  the  leaves. 

"  I  began  to  congratulate  myself  on  my  lucky  manoeuvre, 
while  Bruin  attempted  to  climb  the  pine.  This  put  a  new  face 
on  the  aspect  of  things,  and  I  ceased  to  glory  in  my  good 
fortune.  But  my  enemy  was  a  little  out  of  his  sphere  at 
this  business.  He  was  too  heavy  and  clumsy  an  animal  to 
climb  a  tree,  like  the  common  black  bear ;  and  the  limbs 
would  have  prevented  his  ascent,  even  if  he  had  sufficient 
agility  to  climb  at  all.  So,  after  making  himself  ridiculous 
for  some  ten  minutes  by  his  awkward  exertions,  he  desisted, 
and  laid  himself  quietly  down,  like  a  dog,  beneath  the  tree, 
as  much  as  to  say,  « I  'm  in  no  particular  hurry ;  I  can  eat 
you  just  as  well  in  the  morning,  and  I  dare  say  my  appetite 
will  be  better.' 

"  I  now  considered  myself  in  a  state  of  siege,  and  never 
was  a  poor  fellow  in  a  worse  condition  to  sustain  a  siege  than 
I.  I  had  neither  food  nor  water,  and  if  my  adversary  kept 
his  ground,  I  should  eventually  be  obliged  to  capitulate,  and, 
in  fact,  surrender  unconditionally,  trusting  wholly  to  the  mag- 
nanimity of  my  conqueror. 

"  I  disposed  of  myself  as  well  as  I  could  amid  the  boughs, 
expecting  it  would  be  my  lot  to  pass  the  night  there.  The 
rays  of  the  setting  sun  gilded  but  faintly  the  mountain  peaks. 
The  owl  had  already  commenced  his  nightly  hootings,  arid 
t'ie  dismal  notes  of  the  wolf  went  echoing  through  the  darken- 
ing gorges.  The  stillness  of  the  air  was  broken  by  gentle 
winds  from  the  west,  that  put  the  leaves  in  motion,  .-md 
made  a  mournful  sighing  through  the  trees.  These  sounds, 
coupled  with  my  own  unpleasant  situation,  awoke  no  comfort- 
ing reflections. 

"  13ut  all  these  things  were  disregarded  by  the  besieging 
parly  He  seemed  measuring  my  size  and  weight,  and  calcu- 


* 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  69 

lating  how  long  I  might  last  with  careful  economy,  providing 
he  took  late  breakfasts  and  hearty  dinners.  Not  sympathiz- 
ing greatly  with  the  gastromancy  of  Bruin,  I  turned  my  eyes 
toward  the  spot  where  the  Indian  had  fallen.  From  my  ele- 
vated position  I  could  see  him  distinctly.  The  wound  had  not 
proved  mortal,  and,  with  much  exertion,  he  had  succeeded  in 
raising  himself  from  the  ground,  and  getting  upon  his  hands 
and  knees.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  'grizzly'  did  not 
look  toward  him,  or  honor  him  with  any  attention. 

"  With  a  slow  and  difficult  motion  he  dragged  himself  along, 
the  blood  oozing  from  a  wound  in  his  chest  at  every  effort. 
The  object  of  this  movement  was  soon  obvious.  Near  the 
foot  of  the  tree  where  he  had  been  concealed  lay  his  gun, 
and  he  was  working  himself  gradually  towards  it. 

"  What  if  he  should  have  life  and  strength  enough  to  reach 
it  ?  Would  he  shoot  me  or  the  bear  ?  Having  a  knowledge 
of  Indian  character,  it  required  but  little  shrewdness  to  de- 
termine this  somewhat  important  question.  He  would  follow 
my  example  —  leave  Bruin  unmolested,  and  shoot  me  as  I 
had  shot  squirrels  in  my  boyhood. 

"  I  had  a  good  opportunity  to  observe  the  motions  of  the 
wounded  savage,  and  I  did  so  with  feverish  interest.  Every 
inch  of  ground  he  went  over  cost  him  a  pang.  Fierce  hate 
and  intense  pain  were  expressed  upon  his  face  with  an  energy 
I  shall  never  forget.  Once  he  paused,  and  the  agony  that 
shook  his  stalwart  frame,  I  flattered  myself,  was  the  last 
struggle  of  his  robust  heart  with  death ;  but  it  was  not  so. 
Resting  upon  his  knees,  with  tremulous  hands  he  unloosed 
the  girdle  at  his  loins,  brought  it  upward  over  his  chest,  and 
drew  it  tight  over  the  wound,  to  stay  the  bleeding. 

"  There  was  something  sublime,  yet  terrible,  in  the  strength 
with  which  he  conquered  his  pain  to  perform  this  operation, 
in  order  to  treasure  each  sand  of  life  for  an  act  of  vengeance. 
At  first  he  seemed  a  little  faint  from  the  effect  of  this  rude 
application ;  but  the  momentary  sickness  and  dizziness  of  the 
brain,  produced  by  the  sudden  stanching  of  the  blood, 
passed  away,  and  he  appeared  stronger  and  more  dangerous 
than  before. 

"  Lost  to  everything  but  the  thought  of  vengeance  and 
the  torture  of  his  wound,  with  his  burning  eyes  fixed  intently 
upon  his  charged  weapon,  he  wormed  himself  along  and 


* 


• 
70  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

reached  it.  He  threw  back  the  lock,  took  off  the  old  cap, 
and  replaced  it  by  another ;  this  done,  he  attempted  to  lift 
the  gun  to  his  shoulder,  but  he  could  not ;  his  hands  were 
too  weak  and  unsteady  to  hold  it. 

"  The  disappointment  consequent  upon  this  discovery  was 
terrible,  and  he  gnashed  his  teeth  in  the  fury  of  his  rage. 
He  now  worked  his  way  close  to  the  root  of  the  tree,  dragging 
his  gun  after  him  by  the  muzzle.  When  he  had  reached  the 
spot  that  suited  best  his  purpose,  he  stretched  himself  on  the 
ground  upon  his  face,  and  with  considerable  labor  placed  the 
barrel  of  his  piece  upon  a  small  limb  about  two  feet  from 
the  root  of  the  tree. 

"  His  grim  features,  despite  the  pain  he  suffered,  lighted  up 
with  fiendish  joy. .  I  endeavored  to  screen  my  body  behind 
the  trunk  of  the  pine,  but  it  was  impossible  to  protect  one 
part  without  exposing  another.  I  had  already  fastened  my- 
self to  a  stout  limb  by  means  of  a  leather  strap  I  wore  about 
my  waist,  so  that,  if  I  were  mortally  or  dangerously  wounded, 
I  should  not  fall  and  bfe  torn  in  pieces  by  my  choleric  friend 
beneath.  All  I  could  do  now  was  to  '  stand  fire '  as  best  I 
could. 

"  The  idea  of  a  tumble  of  some  twenty  feet,  and  the  recep- 
tion I  was  likely  to  meet  with  after  my  advent,  filled  me 
with  emotions  far  from  enviable,  and  such  as  I  sincerely 
hope  you  may  never  experience.  I  like  a  joke  as  well  as 
any  man,  and  can  give  and  take  one  with  considerable  grace ; 
but  to  be  shot  like  a  barn-yard  fowl  by  an  Indian,  whom  I 
had  considered  '  as  good  as  dead,'  and  then  to  be  eaten 
(without  sauce)  by  an  ill-tempered  beast  whom  I  had  never 
seen  before,  struck  me  as  being  a  very  beggarly,  absurd,  and 
scurvy  joke.  To  suppose  that  my  mother  had  reared  me  for 
such  an  end  was  an  insult  to  my  better  feelings  arid  my  pride  ! 
But  a  truce  to  pleasantry  on  a  subject  like  this. 

"  I  felt  that  my  hour  had  come,  and  saw  no  possible  means 
of  averting  my  fate.  I  saw  the  Indian  adjust  his  piece  most 
carefully,  and  take  deliberate  aim.  I  looked  to  see  no  more ; 
but  screened  my  head  as  well  as  I  was  able  behind  the  tree. 
A  moment  of  breathless  silence  followed.  The  wind  seemed 
to  die  away,  and  the  owl  and  wolf  ceased  their  clamor.  The 
Indian  fired ;  the  bark  and  splinters  flew  about  my  head,  and 
the  ball  grazed  my  right  temple. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY  71 

"  I  was  not  so  ungrateful  and  sick  of  life  as  to  be  unthankful 
for  this  escape,  and  J  doubt  not  but  I  uttered  some  words  of 
heart-felt  thanksgiving. 

"  Relieved  of  a  dreadful  anxiety,  I  turned  my  attention 
once  more  toward  the  savage.  He  was  glaring  at  me  with 
the  malignancy  of  tne  fallen  one  himself,  and,  with  a  trembling 
and  eager  hand,  commenced  reloading. 

"  The  sun  had  set,  and  pale  twilight  prevailed.  I  now  hoped 
that  it  would  be  too  dark  for  him  to  see  me  before  he  finished 
the — to  him  —  painful  and  laborious  task  of  charging  his 
gun ;  or  that  his  fast-wasting  energies  would  fail  altogether 
before  he  had  accomplished  that  object. 

"  Old  Bruin  had  started  up  at  the  sound  of  the  discharge, 
uttered  a  few  discontented  growls,  and  then  quietly  resumed 
his  former  watchful  attitude. 

"  The  shadows  of  night  fell  rapidly ;  but  through  the  dark- 
ening atmosphere  I  plainly  saw  the  persevering  Indian  pour 
the  powder  into  his  brawny  palm,  and  thence  into  his  piece, 
then  place  a  ball  upon  the  muzzle  and  attempt  to  drive  it 
down  with  the  'driver; '  but  his  strength  did  not  seem  equal 
to  the  task,  and  when  the  dense  darkness  finally  hid  him 
from  view,  he  was  still  laboring,  with  the  feeble  remnant  of 
his  powers,  to  send  the  bullet  '  home.' 

"  The  night  that  ensued  was  to  me  a  long  and  cheerless  one. 
Sleep  I  did  not  wish  to ;  but  before  morning  my  drowsy  eye- 
lids closed,  and  my  imagination  ran  wild  in  dreams,  not  much 
preferable  to  a  waking  state. 

"  It  was  broad  day-light  when  I  awoke.  Bruin  was  no 
longer  in  sight,  and  had  probably  thrown  up  the  siege.  The 
Indian's  gun,  ball-pouch  and  powder-horn,  were  lying  on  the 
ground ;  but  I  looked  for  his  body  in  vain.  I  reconnoitred 
carefully,  fearing  the  absence  of  the  beseiging  party  might  be 
merely  a  ruse  de  guerre ;  but,  seeing  nothing  to  justify  this 
suspicion,  I  descended.  I  found  my  rifle -where  I  had  dropped 
it  after  firing  my  last  charge.  I  now  walked  to  the  spot 
where  the  savage  had  fallen.  His  gun,  which  proved  to  be  a 
smooth-bored  rifle,  lay  upon  the  earth  with  the  rammer  in  the 
barrel,  and  the  ball  about  one-third  of  the  way  down.  The 
powder-horn  and  ball-pouch  I  took  possession  of  without  cere- 
mony, believing  they  would  be  more  useful  to  me  than  to  their 
former  owner,  whose  lifeless  «body  I  doubted  not,  I  should  find 


72  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

in   the  vicinity,  unless   he  had  been  dragged  away  by  the 
bear. 

"  Loading  my  rifle,  I  followed  the  blood-spots  which  marked 
the  way  he  had  gone.  I  was  somewhat  surprised,  after 
going  some  distance,  at  not  finding  him.  He  had  evidently 
crept  away  on  his  hands  and  knees;  for  the  leaves  were 
stained  with  blood.  I  kept  on,  and  traced  him  until  I  reached 
the  Fourche  de  Glace,  or  Ice  river,  a  distance  of  half  a  mile, 
when  nothing  more  could  be  discovered.  He  had  doubtless 
thrown  himself  into  the  water,  in  order  that  I  might  not  be 
permitted  the  triumph  of  seeing  his  body." 

Wickliffe  "having  finished  his  story,  I  wrapped  myself  in  my 
blanket,  and  soon  slept. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

A    NEW    CHARACTER. 

WHEN  I  awoke,  Wickliffe  was  standing  near,  regarding  me 
with  an  expression  so  singular,  that  I  could  not  but  observe 
it.  The  habitual  frown  had  softened  down  into  sadness,  and 
traces  of  emotion  were  visible  upon  his  face. 

He  turned  quickly  away  when  he  perceived  I  was  conscious 
of  his  scrutiny,  and  his  usual  sternness  returned. 

"  Then  he  is  not  a  -man  of  iron,"  I  exclaimed  to  myself. 
"  He  lias  his  moments  of  relenting  and  human  weakness.  But 
why  that  strange  look  —  why  that  softening  of  the  hardened 
lines  upon  the  brow  ?  " 

I  asked  these  questions,  but  there  was  no  person  but  my- 
self to  answer  them.  That  I  could  not  do,  and  the  mystery 
remained. 

My  journal  of  the  20th  has  the  following  note  : 

"  To-day  we  have  followed  the  trail  with  much  difficulty. 
It  has  required  all  the  sagacity  of  my  new  friend  to  distin- 
guish it  at  all.  The  savages  have  scarcely  disturbed  one  blade 
of  grass  in  their  flight. 

"  Wickliffe  seems  dubious,  and  thinks  we  may  be  nearer 
the  war-party  than  we  really  imagine ;  but  I  am  not  back- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  73 

woodsman  enough  to  determine.  My  heart  is  full  of  the 
image  of  Madeleine.  How  madly  I  have  loved  her  without 
being  conscious  of  it !  I  know  now  why  I  came  hither.  I  did 
not  understand  my  own  impulses ;  but  now  all  is  plain  as  sun- 
light. 

"  It  was  the  magic  of  her  voice  and  her  eye  that  attracted 
me ;  and  I  still  hear  and  see  them.  The  voice  speaks  to  me 
at  night  in  dreams,  and,  though  soft  as  the  tones  of  the  harp, 
it  tells  me  I  am  pursuing  a  phantom  —  a  vision  that  will 
fade.  I  take  her  hand  in  mine  as  on  that  night  when  hope 
was  present  with  me,  and  sunny  thoughts  had  life ;  but  it 
shrirks  from  me  again,  and  I  feel  desolate  as  a  leafless  forest. 
Strange  the  human  heart  takes  its  sunshine  from  the  eyes  and 
smiles  of  another !  strange  there  is  no  such  thing  as  happi- 
ness in  the  abstract ! 

"  I  am  impatient  of  this  slow  march ;  it  is  but  a  snail's 
pace  at  best,  and  I  cannot  brook  it.  I  sometimes  imagine 
that  Wickliffe  is  lagging  on  purpose  —  that  he  does  not  mean 
I  shall  rescue  Madeleine. 

"  Once  I  was  on  the  point  of  telling  him  so ;  but  I  met 
those  calm  eyes  of  his,  and  forgot  my  purpose.  He  smiled 
too,  as  if  divining  my  thoughts." 

On  the  night  of  the  26th  we  built  our  fire  at  the  base  of  a 
long  ridge  of  hills.  We  had  strained  every  nerve  to  get  for- 
ward, but  probably  had  not  travelled  over  twenty  miles  that 
day.  Being  so  well  mounted,  and  having  no  baggage  to  en- 
cumber us,  we  could  have  made  twice  that  distance,  had  we 
given  ourselves  no  trouble  about  the  trail. 

Scarcely  had  our  fire  begun  to  blaze,  when  a  visitor  unex- 
pectedly made  his  appearance.  He  came  stalking  up  to  us, 
with  his  rifle  on  his  shoulder,  with  a  swagger  and  a  noncha- 
lance worthy  of  a  prize-fighter. 

His  figure  is  worthy  of  some  description.  In  stature  he 
was  very  short,  but  was  amply  indemnified  for  that  oversight 
in  nature  by  thickness.  His  shoulders  and  chest  were  remark- 
able for  breadth. 

His  head  was  set  upon  said  shoulders  without  regard  to 
neck ;  and,  probably,  a  trapper  in  that  wild  country  could  get 
along  just  as  well  without  a  neck.  He  was  certainly  a  greasy, 
hairy-looking  specimen  of  human  flesh.  He  wore  a  greasy 
fur  cap,  a  greasy  buck-skin  coat,  greasy  leggins,  greasy  moc- 


74  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

casins,  to  which  you  may  add  a  greasy  mouth  and  beard,  and, 
in  short,  greasy  everything. 

He  was  just  the  man  to  subsist  on  raw  flesh ;  and,  when 
necessitated,  could  eat  an  Indian  without  salt.  Such,  at  least, 
was  the  impression  his  appearance  was  calculated  to  make. 

The  rifle  which  he  carried  had  the  same  greasy  look  in 
which  he  luxuriated  —  was  Very  heavy,  and  of  the  largest 
calibre ;  it  would  carry  a  half-ounce  ball.  His  hunting-knife 
was  very  long,  and  its  edge  was  sharp  enough,  no  doubt. 

"  Wah !  "  he  articulated,  bringing  the  breech  of  his  rifle 
violently  to  the  ground,  and  peering  at  us  through  his  shaggy 
eye-brows ;  then  added  immediately, 

"  Any  grub  ?  " 

Wickliffe  signified  that  we  had,  and  produced  a  portion  of 
the  buffalo  he  had  shot  the  night  previous. 

The  adipose  man  seated  himself  coolly  by  the  fire,  cut  a 
stick  from  a  fagot,  and  sharpened  the  end.  Slicing  off  a 
monstrous  piece  of  the  meat,  he  thrust  the  stick  into  it,  and 
held  it  over  the  blaze,  with  great  apparent  satisfaction,  and 
perfect  self-possession. 

When  about  half  done,  or,  to  speak  more  to  the  point,  when 
about  warmed  through,  he  commenced  eating  it  voraciously, 
without  a  word.  The  secret  of  his  greasiness  was  soon  evi- 
dent. 

When  he  had  satisfied,  in  some  degree,  the  demands  of  his 
gastric  region,  he  began  to  show  premonitory  symptoms  of  so- 
ciability, by  wiping  his  mouth  with  his  coat-sleeve,  and  sundry 
startling  yawns. 

"How  are  you,  white  folks?"  he  said,  looking  at  us  with 
the  air  of  a  man  who  suddenly  and  unexpectedly  finds  him- 
self better. 

Wickliffe  assured  him  that  we  were  in  the  enjoyment  of 
good  health,  which  fact  seemed  to  relieve  him  very  much. 

"  Got  any  of  the  weed  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Don't  use  it  much,  but  always  carry  it,"  replied  Wick- 
liffe, offering  a  generous  quantity  of  the  filthy  drug. 

"  That 's  said  like  a  Christian,"  replied  the  greasy  man,  pro- 
ceeding in  silence  to  fill  a  villanous-looking  pipe. 

"  How 's  peltries  ?  " 

"  Don't  know  —  care  nothing  about  peltries,"  said  Wick- 
liffe. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  75 

"Ugh!" 

Here  a  vast  column  of  smoke  curled  out  of  the  greasy  man's 
mouth. 

"  How  is  bufferlers  ?  " 

"  Care  nothing  about  buffalo. "• 

More  smoke.  • 

"  Sent  out  into  these  parts  by  Government  ?  " 

"  Care  nothing  about  Government,  either. 

"  How  's  Injins  ?  " 

"  Can't  find  them  —  am  on  the  trail." 

"  Been  stealin'  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  Horses  and  mules  ?  " 

"  No,  women." 

"  Old  women  ?  " 

"  No,  very  young." 

"  Harnsum  ?  " 

"  As  handsome  as  ever  the  sun  shone  on." 

"  Gon-sarn  their  red  skins !  "  cried  the  stranger,  grasping 
his  rifle  in  one  hand,  and  his  ruffianly  knife  in  the  other. 
"  May  I  be  trodden  to  death  by  wild  bufferlers,  if  some  of 
"em  don't  lose  their  fakilties  for  that  before  the  Injin  corn  gets 
growed !  Young  and  harnsum  gals !  Confound  the  red  nig- 
gers !  If  it  had  been  old  women,  whose  sands  was  e'namost 
run  out,  it  would  seemed  a  little  kinder  different  like ;  but 
young  gals  is  another  thing.  Them 's  jest  my  feelin's.  Con- 
cam  'em ! " 

"  You  speak  like  a  philosopher,"  replied  Wickliffe. 

"  You  're  sure  they  're  young  gals  ?  "  continued  the  trapper, 
without  heeding  the  remark  of  Wickliffe. 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Wickliffe. 

"  My  dander's  risin'  like  a  yeast  cake;  and  them  sort  is  so 
scarce  here,  too.  I  don't  know  but  I  shall  exterminate  the 
whole  race  o'  painted  niggers  from  the  face  of  the  airth.  I 
have  been  vegetatin'  in  these  diggins  a  little  more  than  a 
long  time,  and  I  reckon  I  've'rubbed  out  more  on  'em  nor  I 
have  bufferlers,  —  and  bufferlers  are  mighty  plenty  hereabouts. 
You  can't  scarcely  stir  a  step  without  startin'  more  nor  less. 
A  good  sprinklin'  of  the  varmints  in  this  here  region  call  me 
the  '  Grizzly  Bear,'  and  I  reckon  they  'IP  call  me  more  nor 
that  afore  they  see  the  last  on  me,  unless  I  stick  my  toes  up 
sooner  than  I  kalkilates." 


76  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"  What  does  he  mean  by  sticking  his  toes  up  ?  "  I  whispered 
to  Wickliffe. 

"  Dying,"  he  replied.  "  It  is  a  cant  phrase  often  used  by 
such  people." 

Perceiving  the  "  Grizzly  Bear,"  though  rough  in  exterior, 
was  a  man  to*be  trusted,  I  related  to  him  all  that  had  hap- 
pened to  my  friends  and  myself.  His  interest  increased  when 
he  heard  the  name  of  Leroy. 

"  I  've  knowed  that  man  for  these  dozen  years.  His  heart 's 
bigger  than  a  bufferler's.  It'll  jest  about  break  up  his  con- 
stertution  to  lose  his  gals  in  that  unchristian  way.  Now,  I  'm 
a  rough  man  and  a  great  sinner ;  but  I  an't  intirely  without 
nateral  feelin'.  I  know  that  my  ways  an't  altergether  pleas- 
in'  and  perlite,  and  all  that ;  and  I  am  a  great  deal  like  a 
wild  Injin,  that 's  a  fact ;  and  there  is  considerable  grease  and 
stuff  of  that  natur'  on  my  huntin'-shirt ;  but  may -be  there  is 
a  leetle  good  left  in  me  yet.  When  I  sees  a  feller-cretur  in 
distress,  or  knows  he  's  in  distress,  there  an't  a  man  on  the 
trail  that  would  put  out  his  hand  to  help  him  quicker  nor  I 
would,  although  I  says  it  myself,  when  perhaps  I  hadn't 
oughter.  I  would  n't  valley  sendin'  a  half-ounce  ball  through 
sev'ral  of  the  nateral  varmin  of  this  uncultivated  sile,  for  old 
acquaintance'  sake." 

"  Which  way  are  you  from  ?  "  asked  my  friend. 

"  From  the  nor' -west." 

"  Seen  any  signs  of  Indians,  or  whites  either,  in  that  direc- 
tion?" 

"  Reckon  I  have.  I  crossed  the  trail  of  some  of  my  color 
no  longer  ago  than  this  mornin'.  Yesterday  I  see  one  of  the 
varmin,  an'  if  he  had  n't  a-taken  himself  out  o'  range  mighty 
sudden,  he  'd  been  likely  to  have  lost  his  fakilties  —  his  mem'ry 
in  perticerler.  And,  come  to  think  on  't,  I  picked  up  this  bit 
of  cloth  and  put  it  in  my  pocket,  because  it  looked  kinder 
femernine  like." 

Here  the  trapper  produced  a  small  strip  of  stuff,  of  a  cu- 
rious fabric,  which  I  recognized  as  being  a  piece  of  a  dress  I 
had  seen  Madeleine  wear. 

I  snatched  it  hurriedly  from  the  hand  of  the  stranger,  and 
would  have  pressed  it  to  my  lips,  had  I  not  seen  the  eyes  of 
Wickliffe  fastened  upon  me. 

"  Prehaps  you 's  in  a  great  hurry  to  git  that  piece  of  figured 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  77 

stuff,  mister ;  you  an't  a  goin'  to  swaller  it,  I  presume." 
And  then  he  added,  addressing  himself  to  Wickliffe,  "  I  hope 
he  does  n't  altars  take  things  in  that  onharnsum  way.  I  '11  bet 
all  my  peltries  that  that  youngster 's  got  a  hankering  arter  the 
gal  as  used  to  wear  that  strip  of  stuff." 

"  A  pretty  strong  one  too,  old  fellow,"  rejoined  my  friend. 

"  Where  did  you  find  this  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  Away  in  that  direction,  about  half  a  day's  travel,"  an- 
swered the  trapper,  pointing  to  the  north-west.  "  That  is  to 
say,  about  half  a  day's  journey  for  Camanche." 

"  Camanche  is  your  horse,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"Yes,  I  call  him  Camanche,  because  he  used  to  belong  to 
a  Camanche  brave,  who  suddenly  lost  his  fakilties  and  tumbled 
off  his  back.  Fine  animal  —  tougher  nor  a  bufferler  — 
swifter  nor  an  antelope.  If  I  whistle,  he  '11  leave  his  grass 
and  come  directly.  It 's  my  opinion  you  don't  often  catch  a 
free  trapper  without  a  hoss." 

"  Take  us  to  the  spot  where  you  found  this  piece  of  stuff, 
and  I  will  reward  you  handsomely,"  I  said. 

For  the  space  of  a  minute  the  trapper  smoked  away 
fiercely,  without  reply. 

"  Prehaps  you  don't  know  me,"  he  said,  at  length,  "  and 
prehaps  you  don't  want  to.  A  great  many  people  in  this 
world  judge  a  person  by  the  way  he  looks  outside.  If  he 's 
got  on  an  old  coat,  and  leggins  rather  the  worse  for  wear, 
they  set  him  down  as  nobody ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  if  he 
looks  slick  and  nice,  they  say  he  's  somebody.  But  that  an't 
my  way.  I  don't  mind  how  a  man  looks,  providin'  allers  he 's 
all  right  inside.  It 's  the  intarnal  arrangement  that  makes  the 
man.  That 's  my  religion ;  and  it 's  a  kind  o'  religion  which 
you  think  I  don't  know  nothin'  about.  I  don't  believe  in 
hiring  a  chap  to  do  his  duty ;  and  it  kinder  goes  agin  the 
grain  to  have  a  person  offer  to  reward  me  harnsumly  for  tryin' 
to  rescue  a  feller-cretur  from  the  savages,  especially  when 
that  feller-cretur  is  a  femernine.  Them  's  my  feelin's." 

I  perceived  at  once  I  had  made  a  great  mistake.  Instead 
of  the  unfeeling  and  unprincipled  man  I  had  expected  to  find 
hidden  in  those  soiled  and  unseemly  garments,  I  had  stumbled 
upon  a  real  diamond,  though  rough  and  unpolished.  How  we 
deceive  ourselves  by  judging  by  appearances  !  I  hastened  to 
repair  my  error. 

7* 


78  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"Pardon  me,  my  friend,"  I  said;  "I  have  done  you  some 
injustice.  As  you  say,  it  is  not  right  to  judge  one  by  the 
cut  of  his  coat,  or  the  quality  of  its  material.  I  perceive 
that  your  heart  is  precisely  where  it  ought  to  be.  The  senti- 
ments you  have  uttered  are  worthy  the  proudest  potentate." 

"  I  don't  know  nothin'  of  potentates ;  I  should  n't  know 
one  from  a  pertater ;  but  I  do  know  somethin'  about  nateral 
honesty,  and  the  nateral  religion  of  the  heart.  So,  don't  talk 
no  more  about  hirin'  me  to  go  arter  Leroy's  darters,  that  are 
dearer  to  him  nor  alf  the  world  beside.  I  '11  stake  all  I  'in 
worth,  —  and  that  an't  much,  —  that  there  an't  an  hour  in  the 
day  when  his  heart  an't  ready  to  break ;  and  he  stands  six 
feet  and  two  inches  in  his  stockin's." 

"  Enough  —  here's  my  hand.  We  will  be  on  the  trail  be- 
fore the  morrow's  sun  has  shone  upon  it  five  minutes." 

"  Here  's  a  hand  on  that,  and  prehaps  it  an't  a  very  smooth 
one ;  but  it 's  seen  real  sarvice  in  its  time,  notwithstanding 
and  is  allers  ready  to  grow  rougher  in  a  good  cause." 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

THE   UNKNOWN. 

MY  journal  of  the  27th  discourses  as  follows : 
"  The  strange  trapper  has  kept  us  company  all  day.  His 
name  is  Sutler,  and  he  is  perfectly  at  home  in  these  wilds. 
Wickliffe  seems  to  puzzle  him,  and  he  is  obviously  at  a  loss 
what  to  make  of  him.  It  is  quite  evident  he  did  not  expect 
that  a  person  who  appeared  so  much  a  gentleman  as  Wick- 
liffe possessed  such  an  accurate  knowledge  of  the  country 
and  Indian  practices.  He  had  thought  to  find  a  man  fresh 
upon  the  prairies,  whereas  Wickliffe  is  not.  When  we  set  out 
this  morning,  Sutler  took  the  lead,  and  issued  his  orders  like 
an  old  general ;  now,  things  begin  to  change  their  aspect ;  he 
consults  Wickliffe,  and  gives  his  opinion  with  more  caution. 
"  Sutler  has  designated  the  spot  where  he  found  the  piece 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  70 

of  stuff.  Both  he  and  Wickliffe  affirm  that  there  are  two 
trails,  which  occasionally  intersect  each  other.  One  of  them, 
we  believe,  must  have  been  made  by  our  friends ;  and  to  me 
there  is  joy  in  the  thought.  To-morrow  we  are  resolved  to 
follow  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  white  trail. 

"  Wickliffe  is  calm  and  distant,  as  usual.  Nothing  appears 
to  work  any  change  in  him ;  he  is  either  above  the  common 
whims  of  mankind,  or  scorns  to  acknowledge  them. 

"  How  inexplicable  are  some  men !  —  how  deep  is  the  study 
of  human  character !  But  Wickliffe  is  one  of  those  characters 
which  baffle  study.  I  have  considered  him  from  every  point, 
and  from  every  altitude  of  my  intellect,  and  he  is  an  enigma 
still. 

"  My  impatience  to  get  forward  increases  hourly.  I  mur- 
mur at  the  darkness  of  night,  because  it  retards  our  progress. 
But  I  suppose  we  must  eat  and  sleep,  and  pur  weary  beasts 
must  rest ;  yet  it  is  hard  to  lose  a  moment  when  so  much  is 
at  stake. 

"  It  is  twilight ;  we  have  taken  our  evening  meal.  I  feel 
an  irresistible  desire  to  be  alone,  where  I  can  think  freely, 
without  the  searching  eyes  of  Wickliffe  being  fastened  upon 
me.  I  shall  take  my  rifle  and  walk  quietly  away." 


A  few  stars  twinkled  in  the  skies,  as  I  walked  slowly  from 
the  camp,  and  the  moon  came  up  lazily,  lending  a  softer  hue 
to  the  night. 

Leaving  the  ravine  where  our  fire  blazed,  I  ascended  a  long 
hill,  which,  rising  in  gentle  swells,  attained,  at  last,  a  consid- 
erable altitude.  The  black  walnut,  the  poplar  and  the  maple, 
grew  in  clusters  upon  its  sides ;  but  a  liberal  growth  had  been 
denied  them,  for  the  soil  was  not  favorable  to  their  full  de- 
velopment, or  the  prevalent  fires  of  that  region  had  scathed 
them. 

I  did  not  pause  in  my  walk  until  I  had  attained  the  sum- 
mit of  the  hill.  With  a  feeling  of  freedom,  for  which  I  am 
at  a  loss  te  account,  I  stood  there  alone  in  that  solitude.  I 
could  now  commune  with  myself,  undisturbed  by  the  strange 
gaze  of  Wickliffe.  But  why  should  I  commune  with  myself? 
What  new  hope  should  I  teach  my  heart  to  feel  ?  What  un- 
known philosophy  could  I  gather  from  the  breath  of  the 
mountain  air  ?  Could  I  think  of  Madeleine  more  calmly, 


80  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

with  less  distraction,  with  more  stoicism  ?  Would  my  spirit 
feel  more  of  the  "  touch  of  joy,"  or  less  of  the  agony  of  woe  ? 

I  turned  my  fevered  eyes  upon  the  newly-risen  moon,  which, 
as  it  lifted  itself  from  the  prairie,  seemed  rising  from  the  bed 
of  the  ocean.  There  is  something  tranquillizing  in  the  influ- 
ence of  the  moon,"  when  it  looks  down  upon  us  with  its  full, 
round  face.  A  whisper  is  borne  upon  the  mild,  mellow  rays 
of  its  light,  which  bids  the  earth-wanderer  be  calm.  Like  the 
spirit  which  answers  prayer,  its  voice  is  audible  in  every  land. 
It  is  heard  by  the  dweller  upon  the  prairies,  as  well  as  by  the 
inhabitant  of  the  crowded  city. 

In  that  moment  of  dreaminess,  I  strove  to  bow  my  head 
and  be  calm.  And  then  I  strove  to  think  of  Madeleine  as 
one  dead,  and  lost  to  me  forever.  But  it  is  very  hard  to  give 
up  those  we  love,  even  when  hope  has  waned  until  it  has 
ceased  to  cast  a  shadow  upon  our  pathway.  It  costs  the 
heart  a  bitter  pang  to  part  with  the  loved,  even  with  the 
hope  of  meeting  again ;  but  when  there  is  little  hope  of  a  re- 
union, and  the  fate  of  the  darling  object  is  a  mystery  deep 
and  painful,  how  much  is  that  bitterness  enhanced !  In  that 
struggle  to  forget,  my  spirit  turned  to  Madeleine,  as  the  mag- 
net to  the  pole.  The  idea  which  I  had  nursed  and  encouraged 
had  grown  too  strong  to  combat  with. 

"With  a  sigh  I  averted  my  eyes,  and  the  revery  passed.  As 
my  gaze  sank  down  and  rested  upon  the  broad,  open  prairie, 
stretching  out  from  the  base  of  the  hill,  extending  I  knew  not 
how  far,  I  saw  a  slender,  white  column  of  smoke  spring  up, 
and  mount  against  the  sky ;  and  soon  a  bright  blaze  leaped 
after  it,  and  shadowy  human  figures  were  visible.  In  the 
state  of  mind  I  was  then  in,  I  knew  no  such  word  as  danger ; 
—  I  had  forgotten  it ;  my  thoughts  were  raised  infinitely 
above  it.  I  scorned  the  thought  of  peril ;  was  as  careless  of 
the  future  as  I  was  dissatisfied  with  the  past.  With  feelings 
like  these,  I  threw  my  rifle  across  my  arm,  descended  the  hill, 
and  stalked  moodily  toward  the  dim  outlines  of  the  men,  re- 
vealed by  the  light  of  the  fire.  My  movements  were  silent, 
like  the  ghosts  of  the  departed,  when  they  flit  among  the 
graves  at  midnight.  No  inadvertent  step  gave  warning  of  my 
propinquity :  and,  at  the  distance  of  a  few  yards,  I  stood 
erect,  and  looked  into  the  faces  of  the  strangers.  There  were 
two  —  one  an  Indian,  but  the  other  belied  his  garb,  and  was 
not. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  81 

t 

I  knew  his  features  —  they  were  too  deeply  impressed  upon 
memory  to  be  forgotten,  however  much  they  were  changed 
with  paint  and  Indian  finery ;  it  was  the  same  sinister  face 
I  had  seen  at  St.  Louis  and  Westport,  though  shorn  of  its 
hair.  For  a  moment  I  stood  stupefied  with  this  strange  and 
unlooked-for  discovery.  My  first  impulse  was  to  raise  my 
rifle  and  shoot  him  through  the  head,  and  I  never  had  a 
steadier  hand  than  when  I  brought  the  sights  to  bear  upon  his 
frontal  bone  ;  but  I  changed  my  purpose,  even  when  my  finger 
was  upon  the  trigger.  What  should  I  gain  by  killing  him, 
was  the  question  that  pressed  itself  home  upon  my  conscience, 
and  stayed  my  hand.  Nothing,  —  and  perhaps  I  may  lose 
much,  was  the  answer  which  reason  gave. 

A  knowledge  of  his  movements  would  benefit  me  more  than 
his  death ;  a  single  moment's  reflection  convinced  me  of  this, 
and  I  brought  my  rifle  once  more  to  the  hollow  of  my  flexed 
arm,  with  an  inward  regret  that  I  could  not  carry  my  first 
impulse  into  execution.  His  right  hand  was  wrapped  in  a 
cloth  ;  and,  if  I  had  doubted  before  in  regard  to  the  severed 
finger,  I  doubted  no  longer.  The  lurking  enemy,  the  author 
of  my  misfortunes,  was  before  me,  without  question.  With  a 
strong  effort,  I  walked  away  to  a  considerable  distance  from  the 
fire,  and  traced,  as  well  as  I  was  able  by  moonlight,  the  fol- 
lowing lines  upon  a  blank  leaf  in  my  pocket-book. 

"  Unmanly  schemer !  your  movements  are  watched ;  you 
cannot  stir  a  step  without  the  knowledge  of  one  who  only  de- 
lays your  punishment  for  purposes  of  his  own.  Do  not  think 
to  escape,  or  flatter  yourself  with  success.  You  know  what 
this  means,  and  why  you  deserve  to  die.  When  you  lay  down 
you  may  be  sure  that  the  pull  of  a  trigger  may  send  you  to 
your  last  account.  An  unerring  barrel  has  been  levelled  at 
your  head  this  very  night,  and  may  be  at  the  precise  moment 
when  you  are  reading  these  lines.  I  could  have  slain  you  much 
easier  than  I  have  sent  you  this  note  of  warning;  but  your 
time  is  not  yet  —  it  will  come  sooner  than  you  will  be  ready  ; 
let  that  suffice ;  so  lie  down  and  sleep  calmly  to-night,  if  you 
can." 

Tearing  out  the  leaf  on  which  I  had  written  these  lines,  I 
fastened  it  to  a  small  stone  with  a  strip  of  my  handkerchief. 
When  I  had  done  this,  I  retraced  my  steps  noiselessly  to  my 
first  position  near  the  unknown,  and,  bending  forward,  cast 
the  stone  so  that  it  fell  at  his  feet. 


82  SILVER-KNIFE : 

With  an  exclamation  of  surprise,  both  seized  their  weap- 
ons ;  but  the  white  man's  eye  had  caught  sight  of  the  paper. 
Casting  a  suspicious  glance  around  him,  he  stooped,  took  it 
from  the  ground,  and  commenced  reading  the  lines. 

A  change  came  over  him  as  he  read ;  he  was  no  longer  the 
swaggering  ruffian  of  a  few  minutes  ago.  He  seemed  to 
shrink  and  grow  smaller  as  he  held  the  bit  of  paper  in  his 
hand;  appeared  stupefied,  uncertain,  and  undecided;  cast 
hurried,  nervous  glances  around,  as  if  expecting  a  shot  from 
an  unknown  agency.  Once  or  twice,  apparently,  he  was 
upon  the  point  of  rushing  away  to  meet  or  shun  the  danger, 
and  then  the  hazard  and  folly  of  such  a  step  restrained  him. 

Thus  tossed  with  fear  and  uncertainty,  he  threw  himself 
down  with  his  face  to  the  earth,  and  felt,  probably,  what  the 
guilty  only  can  feel.  Satisfied  with  what  I  had  done,  I  was 
walking  toward  the  spot  where  blazed  the  fire  of  my  friends, 
when  the  tall  figure  of  Wickliffe  suddenly  stood  beside  me. 

"  You  here  ?  "  I  asked,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"  Yes,  I  am  everywhere.  What  did  you  write  on  that 
paper  ?  " 

"  You  saw  me,  then  ?  " 

"  Of  course  I  saw  you ;  what  is  there  I  do  not  see  ? " 

I  repeated  to  him  what  I  had  written. 

"  That  will  do  very  well ;  if  he  is  a  coward,  he  will  suffer 
more  to-night  than  if  you  had  shot  him  through  the  head,  as 
you  thought  of  doing  in  the  first  instance." 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  As  long  as  you ;  what  course  do  you  think  of  pursuing 
in  relation  to  the  white  man  and  the  Indian  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  subject  which  I  have  not  fully  considered.  I 
crave  your  advice.  The  former  knows  more  of  the  fate  of 
my  friends  than  we  do,  I  have  no  doubt.  He  is  the  man 
who  gave  me  the  letter  at  St.  Louis,  of  which  I  have 
spoken." 

"  Since  you  have  asked  my  advice,  I  will  give  it.  Shoot 
the  red-skin,  and  take  the  white  man  alive.  If  he  knows 
aught  of  the  Leroys,  we  can  wring  it  from  him  by  fair  means 
'or  foul." 

"  I  don't  greatly  like  the  idea  of  destroying  the  poor  In- 
dian," I  replied.  "  He  is  but  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of 
a  designing  man,  and  we  can  expect  nothing  better  of  him. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  S3 

What  would  the  death  of  that  miserable  wanderer  avail? 
Nothing ;  it  would  be  like  slaying  the  starving  wolf  merely 
because  he  is  a  wolf,  and  not  something  better." 

"  Not  so,"  replied  Wickliffe.  "  If  he  escapes  through  our 
mercy,  or  inability  to  capture  him,  he  will  bring  scores  of  his 
tribe  upon  us  before  we  have  accomplished  our  object.  If  he 
dies  on  the  spot,  no  word  goes  to  his  people  of  his  end  or  our 
movements ;  and  we  have  only  one  prisoner  to  look  after,  in- 
stead of  two.  Indians  are  proverbially  a  slippery  race ;  cold 
lead  only  can  keep  them  from  getting  through  one's  fingers." 

"  I  think  we  can  manage  them  both,"  I  answered.  "  With 
Sutler's  assistance,  it  will  be  an  easy  matter  to  make  them 
prisoners." 

"Well,  let  it  be  so,"  rejoined  Wickliffe. 

At  that  moment  we  were  joined  by  Sutler,  who  had  also 

seen  the  fire.     I  explained  to  him  the  condition  of  things  as 

well  as  I  could ;  but  it  was  with  difficulty  I  could  restrain 

Imni  from  shooting  the  Indian.     "  There  was  such  a  good 

^chance,  and  it  was  so  much  like  an  act  o'  mercy."  "  t 

After  further  deliberation,  we  decided  to  forego,  for  the 
present,  the  idea  of  capturing  them,  and,  instead  thereof, 
follow  and  watch  their  movements  so  long  as  we  could  do  so 
successfully.  This  was  more  in  accordance  with  my  views, 
for  I  believed  it  presented  a  better  prospect  of  success,  and  I 
wished  to  play  with  the  guilty  fears  of  the  unknown.  It 
would  give  me  a  stern  joy  to  be  near  him  by  night  and  by 
day,  and  be  a  witness  of  his  ceaseless,  corroding  vigils,  his 
sleepless  anxiety.  Having  formed  this  resolution,  Sutler 
took  it  upon  himself  to  find  and  dispose  of  their  horses. 
They  were  found  hobbled  at  no  great  distance.  They  suffered 
themselves  to  be  approached  without  difficulty,  and  were  soon 
in  our  possession.  This  was  no  wanton  act;  the  safety  and 
success  of  our  plans  required  it.  Were  the  objects  of-  our 
suspicion  permitted  to  retain  their  horses,  they  might  elude 
us  ;  but  on  foot  we  could  follow  them. 

Sutler  wrapped  the  feet  of  the  captured  animals  in  buffalo 
skins,  and  rode  them  away  to  a  considerable  distance.  Wick- 
liffe and  myself  stationed  ourselves  in  a  growth  of  sycamores 
at  the  base  of  the  hill  I  have  mentioned,  to  watch  the  move- 
ments of  the  parties  by  turns,  until  morning. 

The  unknown  and  his  red  friend  were  greatly  mortified  at 


84  SILVER-KNIFE : 

the  discovery  of  the  loss  of  their  horses.  Knowing  it  would 
be  vain  to  spend  much  time  in  looking  for  them,  they  struck 
off  in  a  north-westerly  direction,  toward, the  White-Earth 
river.  We  followed  them  at  a  safe  distance  for  two  days, 
while  Sutler  kept  in  the  rear  with  the  animals.  A  portion 
of  this  time  they  kept  the  trail,  which  we  had  been  tracing 
with  so  much  trouble ;  and  at  other  times  they  left  and 
crossed  it  again,  after  several  hours. 

My  journal  of  the  29th  reads  as  follows : 

"  For  the  last  forty-eight  hours  we  have  traced  the  foot- 
steps of  the  unknown  with  untiring  assiduity ;  he  has  not 
been  an  hour  from  our  sight.     It  is  evident  that  he  suffers ; 
his  manner  is  ever  restless,   and   his  eyes   wander  contin- 
ually over  the  prairies  and  hills,  as  if  in  momentary  ex- 
pectation  of  meeting  misfortune.      He    is   never  at    ease, 
is   nervously   impatient  to  get  forward, — feels    that   he  .is 
watched,  his  steps  dogged  by  those  who  wish  him  no  good,  — 
makes  no ,  fire  at  night,  and  would  no  doubt  travel  otmnBj 
the  hours  of  darkness  if  his  strength  would  permit.     He  is' 
probably  straining  every  nerve  to  overtake  his  Indian  accom- 
plices.    *       *       *       *       *       *;.,,,*       * 

"  We  have  again  crossed  what  we  believe  to  be  the  Trail 
of  Leroy  and  Silver-Knife.  What  a  piece  of  good  fortune  it 
would  be  to  overtake  them ! 

"  I  still  dwell  upon  the  memory  of  Madeleine,  and  cannot 
cease  to  hope ;  but  what  can  she  be  to  me,  even  if  we  suc- 
ceed in  wresting  her  from  the  power  of  these  wild  men  of 
the  wilderness  ?  In  vain  do  I  strive  to  teach  my  heart  a  new 
philosophy.  There  is  no  philosophy  for  the  affections ;  they 
are  as  uncontrollable  as  the  winds.  Those  sick  of  life,  or 
too  old  to  enjoy,  may  talk  of  philosophy,  but  not  the  young 
and  hopeful. 

"  30th. — As  soon  as  it  was  light  this  morning,  we  discov- 
ered that  the  Crow  (the  white  man's  companion)  had  given 
us  the  slip.  Wickliffe  looked  disappointed  and  serious,  and 
said  it  boded  no  good.  I  suggested  the  propriety  of  pursu- 
ing him  on  horseback,  and  trying  to  cut  him  off;  but  Wickliflfe 
shook  his  head,  and  remarked  that  he  was  far  beyond  our 
reach.  To-night  we  are  resolved  to  make  a  prisoner  of  the 
unknown,  as  nothing  is  likely  to  be  gained  by  putting*  it  off 
longer.  The  disappearance  of  the  Indian  causes  us  much  unea- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  85 

siness.  We  consider  our  position  a  very  critical  one.  If  the 
Crow  camp  is  not  at  a  great  distance,  we  shall  have  visitors 
before  long.  My  ill-timed  clemency  has  endangered  our 
whole  enterprise.  I  am  ready  to  shoot  myself  for  my  folly. 
What  can  we  do  with  this  white  man,  if  we  deprive  him  of 
liberty  ?  He  will  only  be  an  incumbrance ;  but  we  may  at 
least  learn  the  fate  of  the  Leroy  family,  though  even  that  is 
doubtful.  ******** 

"  We  have  crossed  the  White-Earth  river,  and  are  repos- 
ing upon  its  bank.  This  is  the  third  river  we  have  crossed 
since  leaving  the  Platte.  What  will  be  the  end  of  these  wan- 
derings? *  * 

"  I  have  been  low-spirited  all  day  f  my  mind  is  filled  with 
foreboding ;  evil  is  near  —  I  feel  it ;  every  whisper  in  the 
air  assures  me  of  it.  Perhaps  my  end  is  near,  and  these  are 
but  premonitory  flashes  of  what  shall  be ;  but  what  does  it 
matter  where  I  fall  ?  There  is  a  time  and  a  season  for  all 
things,  saith  the  preacher.  »If  there  is  a  time  to  laugh  and 
be  merry,  there  is  a  time  also  to  die.  Who  is  ready  for  that 
season?  Is  it  thou,  of  woman  born?  Then  lie  down  in  the 
without  a  murmur,  and  let  the  worm  cover  thee.  Alas ! 

ugh  tired  of  earth,  we  turn  with  no  eager  eye  to  heaven. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *  * 
•'  Man  is  naturally  superstitious ;  hears  and  sees  things 
which  never  were  and  never  will  be ;  terrifies  himself  with  a 
thought,  and  pleases  himself  with  a  shadow,  which  has  no 
substance.  Why,  then,  should  I  seize  these  vagrant  fancies, 
and  fasten  them  upon  paper?  I  cannot  tell.  *  *  .  * 
One  hour  later.  This  unaccountable  depression  of  spirit 
still  continues ;  it  is  very  singular ;  for  I  was  never  a  man 
of  dark  thoughts.  As  for  marvellousness,  I  have  but  a 
small  share ;  and  reverence  is  smaller,  I  fear,  than  it  ought  to 
be;  but  every  person  has,  unquestionably,  his  moments  of 
weakness,  and  these  are  mine.  I  have  read  of  the  strongest 
minds  believing  in  premonitory  flashes.  ^  *  #  ^  I 
shall  give  my  papers  to  Wicklifle,  that  they  may  be  forwarded 
to  my  friends,  should  anything  befall  me  ;  he  will  sneer  at  the 
idea,  no  doubt ;  he  is  too  cold  to  be  superstitious  —  too  proud 
to  acknowledge  it  if  he  is.  j*  *  *  *  The  unknown  is  a 
prisoner  at  last, —  is  silent  and  sullen.  No  threats  can  wring 
8 


86 


SILVER-KNIFE  : 


from  him  any  knowledge  of  the  Leroys.  He  is  a  man  of 
powerful  frame,  and  struggled  fiercely  when  seized.  He  is  by 
no  means  fresh  upon  the  prairies.  I  have  seen  his  wounded 
hand,  and  one  finger  is  indeed  gone.  If  he  knows  aught  of 
Madeleine,  he  shall  divulge  it,  by  heaven !  I  cannot  and 
will  not  bear  this  uncertainty  much  longer.  I  hope  he  may 
not  tempt  my  mood  too  much,  for  I  wish  not  to  have  the 
blood  of  a  fellow-creature  upon  my  hands  without  good 
cause.  I  dare  not  trust  myself  to  question  him,  for  fear 
my  impetuosity  may  get  the  better  of  my  prudence.  Let 
me  remember  it  is  a  terrible  thing  to  dismiss  a  human 
soul  from  its  clay  tenement  to  its  God ;  because  there  is  no 
repentance  in  the  grave,  and  the  spirit  shall  return  no 
more." 

#     '    #         #         #         #         #         *         #         # 

I  intrusted  my  papers  and  other  valuables  to  Wickliffe ; 
and  all  for  the  forebodings  mentioned  in  my  journal.  He  re- 
ceived them  more  graciously  than  I  had  expected,  although 
it  was  obvious  to  me  that  he  felt  no  little  contempt  for  the 
proceeding. 

"  You  will  probably  think  this  a  piece  of  folly,"  I  fc- 
marked,  as  I  handed  them  to  him. 

"  Far  from  it,"  he  answered.  "  This  is  not  the  first  trans- 
action I  have  known  of  the  kind." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,"  I  said. 

"  There  is  but  little  to  tell.  1  was  hunting  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Blackfeet  country,  with  an  old  guide  by  the  name  of 
Williams.  He  had  been  a  dweller  in  the  wilderness  for  many 
years,  and  possessed  an  accurate  knowledge  of  woodcraft  and 
savage  habits.  He  had  just  enough  of  the  French  blood  in 
him  to  make  him  gay  under  every  kind  of  privation.  His 
spirits  never  flagged,  and  his  good  humor  could  not  be  out- 
done. But  one  afternoon  his  gayety  vanished  of  a  sudden ; 
his  brow  grew  thoughtful,  and  his  face  became  serious  in  its 
expression.  The  song  and  the  joke  no  longer  passed  his  lips. 
I  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile  at  his  woe-begone  visage. 

"  '  What  is  the  matter  now  ? '  I  asked. 

"  *  I  don't  know  exactly,'  he  replied,  *  but  I  kinder  think 
I'm  wanted.' 

" « Wanted  where  ? ' 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  87 

"  'Up  there,'  he  answered,  pointing  solemnly  to  the  skies. 

"  '  Going  to  die,  you  mean  ?' 

"'I  feel  something  in  here'  (putting  his  hand  to  his  breast) 
that  kinder  tells  me  I  shan't  trap  a  great  many  more  beaver. 
I  reckon  as  how  I  'm  bound  to  another  sort  o'  huntin'-ground, 
where  the  streams  are  flowin'  with  the  waters  o'  life.  But 
it 's  doubtful  to  me  whether  I  taste  o'  them  delicious  waters. 
They  warn't  made  for  the  like  o'  me.  You  know  I  've  been 
a  wicked,  swearin'  man,  carin'  for  nobody,  although  it  may 
be  nobody  cared  for  me.  I  never  had  much  trainin'.  My 
father  was  somethin'  of  a  Frenchman,  and  my  mother  was  an 
out-an'-out  squaw,  and  p'rhaps  they  won't  expect  much  from 
such  a  cast-a-way  child  o'  natur.' 

"  *  Nonsense  ! '  I  said ;  *  nothing  but  a  fit  of  the  blues. 
Cheer  up,  now.  A  buffalo  hump  will  set  you  all  right.' 

"  '  We  have  eat  a  good  many  bufferler  humps  in  our  time ; 
but  we  shan't  never  eat  no  more  of  'em  together.  In  course, 
I  may  be  wrong,  and  these  feelin's  may  wear  off;  but  I  don't 
believe  they  will.  I  Ve  got  a  few  things  in  my  pocket  which 
I  want  you  to  take,  and,  if  anything  happens,  they  a«3  yourn. 
Here's  a  few  bank-notes,  and  some  other  things,  which  would  n't 
be  any  good  to  me,  if  I  should  get  my  quietus  from  one  o' 
them  savagerous  critters.' 

"  To  please  the  old  trapper,  I  took  his  bank-notes,  &c.,  think- 
ing it  was  but  the  cloud  of  a  moment. 

"  One  hour  from  that  time  we  stood  on  the  summit  of  a  hill. 
The  guide  was  leaning  on  his  rifle,  looking  mournfully  at  the 
setting  sun.  I  saw  him  wipe  an  unusual  moisture  from  hie 
eye,  and  cross  himself.  He  seemed  in  the  act  of  turning  to 
speak,  when  the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  rang  out  upon  the  air. 
The  guide  tottered,  smiled,  fell,  and  died  without  a  struggle. 
.1  bent  over  him  an  instant,  but  there  was  no  sign  of  life,  and 
I  attended  to  my  own  safety  by  hastening  from  the  scene. 
His  scalp  hung  that  night,  no  doubt,  in  the  lodge  of  a  Black- 
foot  brave." 

This  tale  had  a  contrary  effect  from  what  might  have  been 
expected.  It  aroused  my  pride ;  for  it  appeared  to  me  that 
he  had  devised  the  story  on  purpose  to  play  upon  my  fears. 

"  I  will  take  back  my  papers,"  I  said,  coolly,  as  soon  as  he 
had  finished. 

"  0,  no !  "  he  replied,  quietly,  "  I  want  to  read  them,  by 


b5  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

and  by.  I  have  no  doubt  but  they  give  a  fair  and  unpreju- 
diced history  of  your  progress  in  the  Indian  country." 

"  Well,  keep  them ;  but  my  mood  has  changed,  and  I  care 
nothing  about  it.  I  am  subject  tp  the  blues ;  but  they  are 
gone  now,  and  I  am  all  right.  To  prove  my  words,  I  am  go- 
ing to  take  a  stroll  up  the  river." 

"  No,  don't  do  that !  "  he  said,  earnestly.  "  I  expect  we 
are  in  a  dangerous  neighborhood,  and  none  too  safe  when  all 
together." 

"  I  am  no  coward,  Wickliffe,  and  I  really  don't  intend  to 
run  into  danger.  But,  since  you  have  told  me  that  story,  I 
shall  go  out,  merely  to  show  you  I  do  not  heed  it." 

Whistling  a  favorite  air,  I  shouldered  my  rifle  and  marched 
leisurely  away.  Though  I  was  thus  calm  outwardly,  I  was 
not  easy  at  heart.  Thus  far  I  had  not  been  very  successful 
in  my  exertions  to  rescue  the  maiden  Madeleine.  I  had  fol- 
lowed the  trail  for  a  number  of  days,  and  was  now  no  nearer 
my  object  than  at  first,  and  perhaps  further  from  it ;  for  the 
escape  of  the  Crow  would  warn  the  marauders  of  pursuit, 
when  they  would  either  send  out  a  war-party. to  exterminate 
us,  or  take  good  care  that  we  should  not  effect  our  purpose. 

What  now  could  be  done  ?  We  had  taken  what  we  be- 
lieved to  be  the  party  most  deeply  implicated  in  the  transac- 
tion ;  but  what  should  we  do  with  him  ?  He  was  sullen,  and 
refused  to  give  us  any  information.  The  letter,  which  I  had 
good  reason  to  believe  he  had  written,  was  still  in  my  posses- 
sion. As  I  thought  of  the  threats  and  taunts  contained 
therein,  and  the  malignity  with  which  he  had  dogged  our  foot- 
steps to  do  us  evil,  my  passions  rose  to  an  ungovernable  height. 
I  felt  my  heart  beating  tumultuously,  and  the  veins  swelling 
like  cords  upon  my  forehead.  My  eyes  were  burning,  and 
my  face  was  hot  and  fevered.  I  stalked  back,  and  stood  be- 
fore the  unknown  with  a  scowl  of  defiance  upon  my  brow. 
For  a  moment  I  contemplated  him,  and  then  motioned  Wick- 
liffe  and  Sutler  to  withdraw. 

They  did  so. 

"  We  are  alone,"  I  said,  sternly,  drawing  a  pistol  from  my 
belt.  "  There  are  a  thousand  miles  of  wilderness  between  us 
and  the  marks  of  civilization.  If  a  human  being  perish  here, 
what  bird  will  fly  with  the  news,  over  the  woods  and  over  the 
wilds,  to  call  for  retribution  ? " 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  O\) 

I  paused  to  give  my  words  time  to  take  effect.  The  man's 
cheeks  grew  pale  ;  he  knew  I  was  dangerous. 

"  I  have  a  few  questions  to  ask,  and  your  life  depends  on 
the  answers  you  make,"  I  continued.  "  What  are  you  called  ?  " 

"^0,  you  want  an  introduction,"  he  replied,  rallying,  and 
putting  as  good  a  face  upon  the  matter  as  possible. 

"  What  are  you  called  ?  "  I  repeated,  in  the  same  tone. 

"  Well,  if  you  insist  on  knowing  me,  my  name  shall  be 
Burrill,  at  your  service." 

"  Let  it  be  Burrill,  then ;  perhaps  in  an  hour  hence  you 
won't  need  a  name." 

"  But  you  surely  don't  mean  to  assassinate  me  ?  0,  no,  you 
are  facetious  —  you  intend  it  as  an  excellent  joke  ;  but  jokes 
lose  their  edge,  you  know,  when  carried  too  far  ;  and  the  law, 
you  know  —  the  LAW " 

"  Don't  waste  your  breath  before  the  time ;  you  will  want 
it  all  before  long  ;  and  breath  is  precious  sometimes,  especially 
toward  the  close  of  one's  life." 

I  drew  the  crumpled  letter  from  my  pocket,  and  held  it  be- 
fore his  eyes. 

"A  very  fair  specimen  of  chirography,"  he  said,  at  length, 
with  affected  composure  ;  but  his  voice  trembled. 

"  Did  you  write  this  ? "  I  resumed,  emphasizing  the  words 
deeply. 

"  Why,  really,  sir,  you  are  inquisitive  and  impertinent 
withal,"  he  rejoined,  with  the  same  desperate  effort  at  calm- 
ness. 

I  cocked  the  pistol,  and  held  it  about  six  inches  from  his 
head. 

"  I  shall  not  repeat  the  question,"  I  said.  "  If  you  do  not 
answer,  and  answer  truly,  you  die  on  the  spot.  Don't  lie  to 
me,  for  I  do  not  wish  your  blood  on  my  hands." 

I  know  I  must  have  been  a  fearful  object  as  I  stood  before 
him,  with  my  flushed  face,  my  set  teeth,  compressed  lips,  flash- 
ing eyes,  and  veins  like  knotted  whip-cords. 

"  I  don't  deny  an  agency  in  that ;  but,  my  dear  sir,  it  was 
all  a  joke  —  a  mere  joke,  nothing  but  a  joke " 

"  I  have  another  question  to  ask,  of  the  utmost  importance ; 
and  I  charge  you,  as  you  value  life  and  the  repose  of  your 
immortal  soul,  don't  hesitate  to  tell  me  correctly.  But  first 
look  at  this  dissevered  member ;  it  is  the  one  you  lost." 


90  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

I  had  preserved  the  finger  in  a  small  bottle  of  brandy,  and 
now  produced  it.  The  effect  upon  him  was  obvious.  His  face 
gathered  a  deeper  pallidness,  and  his  bravado  spirit  seemed 
stricken  down  and  humbled.  He  perceived  that  I  had  a  chain 
of  evidence  against  him,  and  that  a  flat  and  unqualified  denial 
of  all  knowledge  of  the  Leroys  would  do  no  good,  and  might 
be  productive  of  the  worst  of  consequences. 

"  Where  is  Madeleine  Leroy  ?  " 

He  hesitated,  and  trembled  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  are  a  devil !  "  he  muttered. 

"  Yes !  I  am  at  this  moment ;  and  have  some  of  the  devil's 
own  work  on  my  hands.  You  perceive,  I  presume,  that  this 
dangerous  weapon  is  cocked  and  levelled  at  your  right  eye. 
A  slight  pull  of  the  trigger  —  it  is  a  hair-trigger,  and  my 
finger  is  on  it,  and  I  am  rather  nervous  —  would  send  a  leaden 
messenger  crashing  through  your  head." 

"  This  is  too  cool  and  blood-thirsty  !  "  cried  Burrill,  shut- 
ting his  eyes,  horrified  at  the  prospect  of  death.  "  Take  away 
that  devil's  plaything !" 

"  I  shall  not  repeat  a  question  three  times ;  you  know  what 
I  require.  This  minute  is  yours ;  the  next  shall  be  mine." 

"  Your  question  is  too  hard.  What  should  I  know  of  the 
persons  you  name  ?  " 

"  Remember  the  letter,  and  the  threats  it  contains.  You 
do  not  deny  the  authorship  of  that.  This  weapon,  you  see,  is 
very  near  —  the  least  carelessness " 

"  Hold  !  stay  your  hand.  The  two  maidens  are  unharmed ; 
they  are  now  with  my  friends." 

"  Who  are  your  friends  ?  " 

"  The  Crows  —  and  I  saved  their  lives.  They  would  have 
been  slain  immedi " 

"  No  lies !  no  lies !  "  I  cried,  stamping  furiously  upon  the 
ground.  "  Let  me  read  from  your  letter.  Listen !  '  Your 
hope  shall  be  like  the  deceitful  mirage  which  tantalizes  the 
thirsty  traveller  upon  the  desert  waste  with  the  hope  of  water.' 
And  again :  '  You  have  not  sufficient  stamina  to  contend  with 
that  influence  which  will  continually  be  exerted  against  you.' 
I  know  that  '  influence,'  and  have  felt  it,  and  you  shall  learn  if 
I  have  strength  to  struggle  with  it.  Whither  have  the  savages 
gone  with  the  maidens  ?  —  make  a  clean  breast." 

"  That  I  know  not.     Ask  something  that  I  know." 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  91 

"  Harkee,  Burrill !  Hear  you  tlie  howl  of  the  wolf  that 
prowls  about  the  camp  ?  It  is  hungry  for  blood ;  its  gaunt 
frame  is  pinched  with  famine ;  it  eats  human  flesh.  Were 
you  left  dead  here  to-night,  there  would  not  be  two  joints  of 
your  frame  together  by  to-morrow's  sun." 

"  Horrible ! " 

"  Very  true ;  but  you  have  forgotten  to  tell  me  where  your 
Crow  friends  have  gone  ?  " 

"  To  the  Black  Hills,  son  of  Satan !  —  now  release  me." 

"  Release  your  spirit,  perhaps  ;  but  not  your  body.  What 
was  the  fate  of  Leroy  ?  " 

"  He  perished  —  I  could  not  save  him." 

"  You  save  him !  Cease  to  blaspheme  the  truth.  So  the 
wolf  saves  the  lamb,  and  the  hawk  the  chicken ;  so  the  vul- 
ture scorns  carrion,  and  feeds  upon  the  choicest  dainties ;  so 
the  fox  forgets  his  cunning,  and  the  snake  to  crawl  upon  its 
belly  on  the  ground." 

I  laughed  savagely,  and  my  laughter  seemed  to  terrify  him. 

"  I  believe  you  are  deceiving  me  about  Leroy,"  I  continued. 
"  If  you  are,  remember  you  are  in  my  power,  and,  if  I  dis- 
cover your  duplicity  by  any  circumstances  which  the  future 
may  develop " 

"  I  tell  you,  he  perished." 

"  Well,  let  it  be  that  he  perished  —  all  must  perish.  What 
was  your  object  in  abducting  the  maidens  ?  " 

"  I  deny  the  charge." 

He  was  sitting  upright  upon  the  earth,  for  his  bands  did 
not  permit  him  to  assume  a  standing  position. 

"  Take  that  for  your  hypocrisy  !  "  I  shouted,  and  dealt  him 
a  stunning  blow  upon  the  head,  which  laid  him  senseless  upon 
the  ground. 


92  SILVER-KNIFE : 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

CAPTIVITY. 


As  I  walked  away  and  left  him,  I  saw  a  purple  stream 
welling  from  his  temples.  I  passed  Wickliffe  and  Sutler 
without  a  word,  for  it  may  be  easily  imagined  that  I  was  not 
in  a  mood  for  words.  They  saw  my  excited  manner,  and  suf- 
fered me  to  go  my  way  without  question.  I  felt  the  need  of 
cool  air,  for  it  seemed  hot  and  suffocating  where  Burrill  was, 
as  if  he  had  rendered  it  so  by  his  presence.  I  believe  the 
breath  of  one  villain  will  create  an  atmosphere  foul  enough  to 
sicken  a  dozen  honest  men.  I  met  the  balmy  winds  that  came 
sighing  down  the  river,  and  they  were  as  grateful  to  my  burn- 
ing brow  as  a  bath  of  cold  water  to  him  upon  whom  the 
fever-demon  has  laid  his  scorching  fingers. 

Just  before  me  was  a  high  bluff,  one  of  many  such.  Upon 
the  water  side  it  arose  perpendicularly  to  the  height  of  thirty 
or  forty  feet.  It  resembled  those  rocky  headlands  I  have 
seen  upon  tjie  sea-shore.  I  mounted  to  the  top  of  this  bluff, 
and  seated  myself  where  I  could  look  down  into  the  waters  of 
the  White-Earth.  I  sat  there  and  watched  the  stars  as  they 
came  out,  one  by  one,  to  gem  the  diadem  of  night,  and  my 
brain  teemed  with  thought.  As  I  listened  to  the  voice  of 
Nature,  while  she  spoke  through  the  winds,  and  the  birds,  and 
the  running  waters,  I  grew  calmer.  Aided  by  the  gentle 
moon  and  her  satellites,  I  took  out  my  tablets  and  wrote,  or 
attempted  to  write,  lines  like  the  following.  I  cannot  recall 
them,  word  for  word,  because  they  were  lost ;  and,  indited  at 
that  hour,  could  have  been  scarcely  intelligible  if  preserved; 
but  the  overtasked  mind  seeks  anything  for  employment. 

"  I  have  been  angry  —  it  may  be,  cruel;  but  what  I  have 
doije  was  for  the  sake  of  Madeleine.  I  have  solved  the  mystery 
at  last,  and  the  ruffian's  name  is  Burrill.  I  shall  compel  him 
to  lead  us  to  the  maidens.  He  begins  to  know  me  for  what  I 
really  am.  The  wicked  are  ever  craven-spirited.  ^  ^  ^ 
Madeleine  is  unharmed.  It  is  possible  I  may  see  her  again. 

*  *  *  But  why  these  forebodings?  I  thought  they 
had  passed,  and  given  place  to  more  manly  impulses.  *'*  * 
It  is  hard  to  tell  what  new  mood  I  may  take.  The  imagina- 


AN  AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  93 

tion  is  a  wayward  thing.  Perhaps  I  shall  become  a  disciple 
of  Don  Quixote,  and  believe  in  enchantment  and  other  ex- 
travagances. ^  ^  ^  I  need  sleep,  and  this  relapse  into 
the  dismals  may  owe  its  origin  to  that.  *  *=  *  Very 
mild  is  the  night.  The  air  is  cool  and  balmy,  and  the  breezes 
seem  to  chide  me  for  my  moodiness.  The  nightingale  is  sing- 
ing his  song,  and  the  waters  flash  and  sparkle  far  down  below 
me.  *  $?  *  Has  Burrill  seen  and  spoken  to  Madeleine  ? 
Has  he  insulted  her  with  offers  of  love  ?  Why  was  he  away 
from  her  ?  Time  perhaps  will  show.  Good  angels  defend  the 
restless  Madeleine  and  the  calm  Mary  !  May  the  time  when 
I  can  strike  a  blow  for  her " 

I  was  interrupted  —  a  hand  was  laid  upon  my  shoulder. 
I  sprang  to  my  feet  —  a  painted  warrior  stood  beside  me. 

"  White  man  walk  woods,"  he  said,  meaning  that  I  was  his 
prisoner,  and  should  go  with  him.  For  a  reply  I  planted  a 
blow  between  his  eyes  that  stretched  him  upon  the  ground. 

But  that  was  only  the  commencement  of  my  trouble ; 
another  was  upon  me  before  I  had  time  to  recover  myself. 
He  was  a  strong  fellow,  and  I  was  likely  to  have  *fhe  worst 
of  it.  I  had  incautiously  left  my  hunting-knife,  and  now 
felt  the  want  of  it  bitterly ;  for  I  perceived  the  Indian  was 
trying  to  get  his  from  his  belt.  Resolving  not  to  die  alone 
and  unavenged,  I  concentrated  all  my  physical  powers,  and, 
lifting  him  in  my  arms,  leaped  from  the  bluff,  and  we  went 
whirling  down  the  dizzy  height.  I  had  no  thought  but  death  — 
I  did  not  expect  to  escape ;  but  the  waters  proved  deeper 
than  I  had  thought.  I  arose  to  the  surface  after  a  terrible 
plunge,  still  held  by  the  nervous  arm  of  the  Indian.  Grasp- 
ing him  firmly  by  the  throat,  I  held  his  head  under  until  his 
hands  relaxed  their  hold,  and  the  limbs  straightened  out; 
,  then  pushed  him  from  me  and  swam  to  the  shore,  faint  and 
exhausted.  Meanwhile  the  brave  upon  the  bluff  had  recov- 
ered from  the  stunning  blow  I  had  dealt  him,  and  now  sent 
forth  his  shrill  war-whoop,  which  was  answered  from  the 
adjacent  wood  by  a  hundred  savage  throats.  My  rifle  and 
revolvers,  also,  had  carelessly  been  left  at  the  encampment.  I 
had  only  a  brace  of  common  duelling-pistols  in  my  belt,  and" 
they  were  now  rendered  useless  by  their  recent  drenching. 
If  I  could  not  fight,  I  must  run ;  and  so  I  made  the  attempt, 
but  it  was  only  an  attempt,  for  I  was  hemmed  in  on  every 


94  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

side.  Despairing  of  escape  in  that  way,  I  threw  myself 
down  upon  the  earth  among  a  growth  of  ferns  and  reeds, 
in  the  hope  that  I  might  happily  be  overlooked. 

I  had  scarcely  assumed  that  position  when  I  heard  the 
terrible  voice  of  Burrill,  and  felt  my  case  was  indeed  a  pre- 
carious and  hopeless  one.  The  Indians  had  released  him  un- 
questionably, and  he  was  inciting  them  .to  vengeance.  I 
reproached  myself  bitterly  that  I  had  not  slain  him  on  the 
spot,  and  that  through  my  means  his  Crow  friend  had  been 
suffered  to  escape  to  bring  his  people  to  destrSy  us.  They 
came  very  near,  and  I  heard  them  pass  on  every  side.  I  was 
in  an  agony  of  suspense,  and  prayed  fervently  that  my  fate 
might  be  decided  quickly.  Not  the  least  painful  thought  was, 
what  will  become  of  the  Leroy  family,  in  case  of  my  capture  ? 
Once  the  tide  of  dusky  figures  rolled  away  in  another  direc- 
tion ;  but  it  speedily  swept  back  again.  And  Burrill  came 
also,  foaming  with  rage,  exhorting  the  Crows  to  activity,  and 
to  look  behind  every  tree,  and  beat  every  bush.  Several 
times  he  passed  so  near  my  hiding-place  that  I  could  have 
touched  him  with  a  yard-stick,  or  dashed  my  pistols  in  his 
face  with  but  a  slight  exertion  of  the  arm.  I  will  not  assert 
that  I  was  entirely  composed  ;  or  that  I  did  not  feel  a  sickly, 
painful  anxiety  in  regard  to  the  result.  I  should  have  been 
something  more  than  human  not  to  have  experienced  sensa- 
tions of  a  character  extremely  unpleasant,  and  bordering  on 
the  horrible. 

The  knight  of  La  Mancha  himself,  although  a  very  proper 
and  valorous  knight,  had  he  been  placed  in  just  such  a  situa- 
tion, would  have  envied  the  low  estate  of  Panza  during  the 
blanket-tossing,  or  the  discipline  of  the  pack-staves.  I  do 
not  think  I  am  a  coward.  I  never  acted  the  part  of  one  in 
positions  of  danger,  and  I  have  braved  death  more  than  once ; 
but,  as  I  lay  there  amid  the  ferns  and  reeds,  and  heard  the 
cries  and  footsteps  of  the  wild  sons  of  the  wilderness,  the  per- 
spiration rolled  from  my  face  in  great  drops.  Lying  there 
like  a  dog  was  a  different  thing  from  facing  the  enemy  like  a 
man,  and  having  the  question  of  life  and  death  resolved  at 
bnce.  Suspense  makes  the  boldest  heart  tremble,  and  the 
certainty  that  follows  is  a  relief,  let  that  certainty  be  of  what- 
ever character  it  may. 

I  had  a  presentiment,  after  I  heard  his  voice,  that  Bur- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  95 

rill  would  be  the  man  to  discover  me ;  nor  was  I  mis- 
taken. He  approached  the  spot  where  I  lay,  and  his  eyes 
gleamed  upon  me  like  a  basilisk's.  I  did  not  give  him  time* 
to  commence  an  attack,  but,  leaping  from  the  earth,  knocked 
him  down  with  a  pistol,  and  ran  for  dear  life.  I  should  have 
done  very  well  had  I  continued  running ;  but  unfortunately  I 
ran  against  a  Crow  warrior,  and  a  rough-and-tumble  engage- 
ment took  place,  during  which  we  both  rolled  over  and  over 
an  infinitude  of  times.  I  succeeded  finally  in  getting  him 
beneath  me,  and  freed  myself  from  him  by  dashing  his  head 
against  a  stone  several  times  with  all  my  strength,  which  I 
have  reason  to  believe  deranged  his  mental  faculties  more 
than  several  touches  of  the  nightmare !  As  I  continued  my 
flight,  I  saw  Wickliffe  and  Sutler  in  the  distance  fighting  like 
lions ;  and  they  were  not  alone.  I  heard  the  crack  of  a  rifle  that 
sounded  like  old  "  Ironsides, '"  and  a  war-cry  that  reminded 
me  of  Silver-Knife ;  but  in  that  moment  of  excitement  J  was 
by  no  means  sure  I  was  right  in  my  conjectures ;  j  c  tfce 
bare  possibility  of  being  right  gave  me  a  thrill  of  pli  .sure. 
Alas !  I  was  not  destined  to  join  them.  A  blow  i\  om  a 
tomahawk  laid  me  low.  I  know  little  of  what  followed  im- 
mediately ;  there  was  a  period  of  darkness  without  ao7/  dark- 
ness within.  The  world,  and  all  I  had  Jknown,  or  felt,  or 
feared,  were  lost  in  that  darkness.  JKhen  my  ^oas  once 
more  became  connected,  I  was  lying  jf^f  my  bad  I  felt  a 
painful  sensation  about  my  wrists  and  ankles,  aiU  perceived 
that  I  was  bound  hand  and  foot.  The  sound  of  conflict  had 
nearly  ceased,  though  a  random  shot  occasional1/  told  that  it 
was  still  going  on  at  a  distance.  I  was  not  »,ione;  a  Crow 
warrior  stood  near  me,  with  weapons  in  his  h*,nds.  His  vigils 
were  quite  useless,  for  I  was  bound  so  thoroughly  there  was 
but  little  prospect  of  escape.  He  was  soori  joined  by  others. 
My  feet  were  unbound,  and  I  was  ordered  to  march.  There 
was  no  alternative  but  to  obey,  and  I  followed  my  captors. 
We  had  not  proceeded  far  before  Burrill  made  his  appear- 
ance ;  and  p,  most  unwelcome  appearance  it  was.  He  wore 
an  expression  that  boded  no  good.  I  did  not  deign  to  n'otice 
him,  and  gave  no  sign  that  I.  know  he  was  near.  The  dark 
scowl  upon  his  face  gave  place  to  a  derisive  laugh  as  he 
approached. 


96  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"  Well,  Ferguson,  you  are  on  your  last  march !  "  he  saiG- 
triumphantly. 
•     I  scorned  to  answer  him. 

"  You  will  never  walk  over  this  ground  again.  Every  step 
takes  you  nearer  to  your  grave.  Let  me  quote  a  little  to 
you.  'If  a  man  die  here,  in  this  wilderness,  what  bird  will 
fly  to  call  for  retribution  ? '  Is  n't  that  poetical  ?  " 

I  made  no  reply. 

"  You  said  something  about  wolves  which  I  cannot  remem- 
ber ;  but  you  may  rest  assured  they  will  not  eat  so  much  as 
a  joint  of  your  frame.  Do  you  understand  that  ? " 

He  paused  for  an  answer. 

"  Silent  are  you  —  silent  as  an  Indian  ?  I  shall  teach  you 
to  speak.  What  think  you  of  Madeleine  Leroy  ?  " 

I  was  still  mute,  although  my  blood  boiled  to  hear  him 
speak  the  name  of  Madeleine. 

•RL  "  Would  you  take  Mary  for  Madeleine  ?  Jacob  took  Leah 
for  Rachel,  you  know.  I  should  be  willing  to  make  almost 
any  sacrifice  for  you,  we  are  such  good  friends." 

I  longed  to  strike  him  upon  the- mouth;  but  I  could  not; 
my  hands  were  bound. 

"  What  would  you  like  to  have  done  with  your  ashes,  Mr. 
Ferguson  ?  Anything  I  can  do  for  you,  in  their  final  dispo- 
sition, will  give  me  pleasure.  What  kind  of  fagots  should 
you  prefer  for  your  funeral  pile  ?  Some  have  a  choice ;  one 
prefers  hard  wood,  another  soft,  a  third  pitch-pine,  and  a 
fourth  birch-bark.  Shall  be  happy  to  oblige  you  —  have  a 
great  assortment  of  combustibles." 

He  paused  again. 

"  Perhaps  you  leave  all  these  matters  to  me,  and  trust  to 
my  experience  and  better  judgment;  you  couldn't  do  better. 
I  shall  not  fail  to  attend  to  these  little  preliminaries,  like  a 
faithful  friend." 

Another  silence. 

"  I  suppose  you  know  you  are  not  alone  in  disgrace  ?  Tha 
sight  of  a  friend  will  raise  your  spirits,  no  doubt ;  and  here 
he  comes." 

I  turned  suddenly  at  these  words,  and  my  eyes  rested 
upon  the  noble  figure  of  Silver-Knife.  He  was  a  little  in  the 
rear,  and  bound  like  myself.  He  was  singing  his  death-song 
in  a  clear,  ringing  voice.  It  had  a  wild  and  startling  effect 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  97 

upon  me.  He  told  of  the  exploits  of  his  fathers ;  of  his 
people ;  of  his  own,  and  the  vengeance  his  tribe  would  take 
upon  their  eriemies. 

In  substance  it  was  something  like  the  lines  which  follow, 
though  it  was  much  more  prolix.^ 


"Wabuma!  Wabuma!  the  warrior  shall  die; 
'Tis  the  voice  of  Monedo,  He  speaks  from  on  high; 
The  form  that  is  lofty  in  dust  shall  be  laid  — 
Monkonawon  hears  it,  and  is  not  afraid: 
Though  the  form  that  is  lofty  in  dust  shall  be  laid. 

"  0  Minno  Monedo!  he  will  not  delay, 
The  soul  of  the  chieftain  entreats  not  to  stay; 
Like  the  eagle  unconquered  his  spirit  shall  soar, 
And  defy  them  till  malice  can  torture  no  more : 
And  his  spirit  untamed  like  the  eagle  shall  soar. 

"  Go  look  in  his  wigwam,  and  see  if  you  know 
The  scalps  that  once  grew  on  the  head  of  the  Crow; 
He  tore  them  away  ere  the  life-blood  was  cold, 
From  the  heads  of  the  young,  and  the  heads  of  the  old: 
Ere  the  blood  in  their  bodies  was  thickened  and  cold. 

"  Your  warriors  and  chieftains  like  squaws  he  has  slain, 
Ye  never  shall  see  them  in  battle  again; 
And  long  shall  the  living  remember  to  tell 
The  deeds  of  Monkonawon  ever  he  fell : 
Your  people  shall  ever  remember  to  tell. 

"0  Minno  Monedo!  he  looks  unto  thee; 
Sustain  through  the  torture,  whatever  it  be; 
Give  courage  and  strength  to  the  soul  of  the  Brave, 
And  glory  and  sunshine  shall  rest  on  his  grave: 
Give  firmness  and  strength  to  the  heart  of  the  Brave. 

"  His  young  men  shall  come  in  the  strength  of  their  might, 
Pursue  you  by  day,  and  surprise  you  by  night; 
Not  one  shall  escape,  —  not  a  chieftain  shall  live,  — 
For  Monkonawon's  warriors  never  forgive : 
And  none  shall  escape  —  not  a  warrior  shall  live." 

*  The  term  wabuma  signifies,  Behold  thou,  or,  Attend  thou.  Monedot 
as  most  persons  know,  signifies  God  or  Spirit.  Monkonawon  is  an  abbre- 
viation and  corruption  of  the  hero's  Indian  name.  Minno,  means  good. 

9 


9  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

CHAPTER    XV. 

DOOMED. 

THREE  hours'  march  took  us  to  the  Crow  encampment. 
During  that  time  I  had  exchanged  no  words  with  Silver- 
Knife.  He  had  manifested  no  surprise  at  seeing  me,  and 
noticed  me  only  by  a  slight  movement  of  the  "head.  Our 
entry  into  the  camp  was  hailed  with  a  terrible  clamor  by  the 
women  and  children.  Insults  of  every  kind  were  offered  us. 
Squaws  reviled  us,  and  naked  children  made  wry  faces.  We 
were  firmly  secured  in  the  lodge  of  one  of  the  chiefs,  and  it 
was  a  ^consolation  to  have  my  fellow-prisoner  near.  He 
bore  his  misfortunes  with  truer  Indian  dignity.  In  the  na- 
tive pride  of  his  character,  he  soared  far  above  the  malice  of 
his  captors.  A  warrior  was  stationed  near  the  door  of  the 
lodge,  and  we  were  left  to  our  reflections  for  the  remainder 
of  the  night.  Once,  Burrill  looked  in  to  see  if  all  was  secure, 
and  went  away  apparently  highly  satisfied  with  what  he  had 
seen.  I  now  had  an  opportunity  to  converse  with  Silver- 
Knife. 

"  What  know  you  of  my  friends,  and  how  came  you  hith- 
er ?  "  I  asked,  quickly. 

"  The  maidens  beloved  by  the  pale  medicine  man  are 
prisoners." 

"  Where  are  Leroy  and  Basil  ?  " 

"  They  have  been  on  the  trail  of  the  Crows,  and  the  war- 
chief  has  been  with  them." 

"  Why  did  you  leave  me  ?." 

"We  thought  the  medicine  man  was  dead.  Our  hearts 
were  heavy ;  but  we  could  not  stay.  The  Crows  were  bearing 
away  in  triumph  the  wife  and  daughters  of  Long  Rifle.  To 
do  good  to  the  living,  we  left  the  dead,  wishing  him  a  pleas- 
ant journey  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds.  We  have  dogged 
the  footsteps  of  our  enemies  ever  since.  To-night  they  attacked 
your  camp.  We  heard  the  sound  of  firing.  We  hastened 
to  your  assistance,  and  heard  news  of  you.  They  told  us 
you  were  in  danger,  and  perhaps  at  that  moment  a  prisoner. 
We  fought  desperately.  Many  of  the  enemy  fell ;  but  there 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  99 

were  too  many  to  contend  with.  "We  retreated  step  by  step, 
fighting  as  we  went.  I  was  at  last  overpowered  and  taken 
prisoner.  My  hours  are  numbered ;  the  red  warrior  will 
die." 

"  You' will  not  die  alone.  I  shall  perish  with  you.  These 
demons  are  merciless ;  they  will  burn  us.  And,  even  were 
they  disposed  to  mercy,  that  white  fiend  would  change  their 
mood." 

"  Bad  man  is  the  snake  in  the  grass.  He  is  the  child  of 
Machintto,  the  bad  spirit,  But  you  must  die  like  a  man. 
Do  not  shrink  from  the  smoke  when  it  stifles,  or  the  fire 
when  it  burns.  Sing  your  death-song,  and  tell  of  the  war- 
riors you  have  slain.  Let  them  not  call  my  white  friend 
a  squaw.  You  have  been  brave  in  battle.  The  mighty  in 
war  have  fallen  before  you.  Death  is  a  journey  to  a  better 
land.  The  tortures  of  a  day  will  be  forgotten  in  the  happy 
hunting-grounds.  We  shall  not  die  there,  neither  shall  we 
make  war  any  more  with  our  enemies.  Nobody  weeps  there ; 
and  all  faces  shine  with  happiness.  The  fields  are  very  green, 
and  the  trees  never  grow  old  and  wither.  The  game  abounds, 
and  we  shall  pursue  it  through  a  country  very  beautiful  and  - 
pleasant,  whose  delightful  verdure  is  eternal.  We  shall  not 
stumble  upon  the  graves  of  our  fathers  in  hunting,  for  there 
are  no  graves  there.  No  sun  shines  there,  for  the  smiles  of 
Monedo  will  give  us  light.  Sparkling  rivers  are  there, 
whose  waters  impart  everlasting  youth  and  freshness.  Who 
would  not  dwell  in  that  country  ?  We  will  journey  together 
to  the  pleasant  land,  where  the  shadows  of  our  fathers  are." 

"  But  Madeleine  !  Who  will  pluck  her  away  from  the  hand 
of  the  destroyer  ?  How  can  I  die  and  leave  her  in  danger  ?  " 

"  Monedo  is  the  father  of  the  helpless  and  innocent.  He 
will  make  her  his  care.  Perhaps  he  will  take  her  by  the  hand 
and  lead  her  from  her  enemies,  or  you  may  meet  her  in  the 
hunting-grounds  of  our  fathers.  Do  I  not  leave  children  ? 
Do  I  ask  who  shall  care  for  the  Morning  Star  and  the  Sing- 
ing Bird  ?  They  are  very  dear  to  the  red  man's  heart ;  but 
he  fears  not  to  trust  them  with  the  Master  of  Life," 

"  It  is  hard  for  the  young  to  die  before  they  have  scarcely 
tasted  the  cup  of  life." 

"  It  is  better  to  die  young  than  to  die  old ;  for  the  old  grow 
doting  and  foolish,  and  are  remembered  as  children.  The 


loo 


SILVER-KNIFE : 


young  man  passes  away  in  his  strength,  and  is  remembered  as 
one  comely  and  brave.  The  aged  are  like  the  old  and  with- 
ered trunk,  fit  only  to  lie  down  in  the  dust.  They  shake  and 
tremble  at  every  breath  that  blows.  The  young  man  is  like 
the  young  sapling,  whose  fibres  are  tough  and  strong.  He 
can  die  with  more  courage,  and  leave  a  great  name.  His 
people  mourn  his  loss,  and  youthful  maidens  shed  tears  to  his 
memory." 

This  was  good  Indian  philosophy,  but  it  consoled  me  but 
little.  I  was  not  so  much  afraid  of  death,  as  the  man- 
ner of  dying.  I  could  go  forth  and  be  shot;  I  could  lay 
my  head  upon  a  block,  and  have  it  cut  off  at  a  blow; 
but  who,  save  an  Indian,  could  brook  the  thought  of  being 
burned  ?  Where  is  the  man  whose  nerves  are  strung  of  the 
right  material  for  such  a  hellish  ordeal  ?  Do  you  know  him  ? 
can  you  point  him  out  ?  have  you  seen  him  ?  And  this  is  not 
even  the  merciful  burning  which  the  martyrs  had ;  but  the 
slow,  the  thrice  slow  torture  of  the  slow  fire,  aided,  abetted 
and  aggravated,  ten  thousand  fold,  by  savage  arts  and  devices. 
Good  heavens !  how  can  human  flesh  brook  the  living  fire  ? 

Would  to  God  that  what  is  called  life  were  nothing  more 
substantial  than  a  dream.  I  would  barter  all  my  hopes  of 
the  future,  all  my  ideas  of  a  heaven,  for  the  certainty  that  life 
were  an  idea  —  only  an  idea  :  something  like  the  light,  airy, 
misty  clouds  that  rest  for  a  single  instant  upon  the  disc  of  the 
moon. 

^  ^  ^=  And  I  must  die.  Solemn  thought.  Let  me 
repeat  the  words;  let  me  dwell  upon  them  well.  I  must  die ! 
And  what  then  ?  What  comes  after  death  ?  Is  it  judgment, 
or  is  it '  the  cold  rottenness  of  the  grave  ?  I  wonder  if  the 
doctrine  of  life  hereafter  is  a  truth,  real  and  awful !  My 
mother  thought  so ;  she  prayed  too.  And  I  shall  never  be- 
hold her  again,  never  gaze  upon  the  brow  whereon  the  light 
and  the  shadow  have  rested  by  turns.  My  exit  will  write  an- 
other line  there,  where  the  cloud  shall  linger  forever.  *  * 

Is  Wickliffe  a  believer  ?  or  does  he  reject  such  things  as 
airy  nothings  ?  The  views  of  the  strong-minded  man  must  be 
worth  something.  And  yet  what  can  they  be  worth  to  a  dying 
man  ?  Can  an  arm  of  flesh  sustain  me  ?  Alas !  no.  Where, 
then,  shall  I  turn  my  despairing  eyes  ?  Is  there  hope  in  the 
Cross  ?  Is  there  peace  in  the  smiles  of  the  Nazarene  ?  But 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.'  101 

I  have  spurned  Christ.     I  b'ave  Aof;  ma&^rin)  t^fii&ii  of'  ray 
counsels;  and  God  has  not  been  in  my  thoughts".  '  And thitf  is j 
another  of  the  inconsistencies  of  the  creature  called  man. 

The  Christians  hang,  and  the  Indians  burn.  Which  is  the 
most  dreadful?  How  horrible  it  must  be  to  see  a  human 
creature  fastened  to  an  upright  post,  and  burned  to  ashes !  If 
it  be  horrible  to  see,  how  much  worse  must  it  be  to  suffer  ! 
And  yet  helpless  women  have  been  burned,  for  God's  sake,  by 
professing  Christians.  But  it  is  a  different  thing  to  die  for 
one's  religion ;  for  God  is  with  the  martyr.  What  has  been 
may  be  again ;  and  in  the  hour  trial  even  I  may  suffer  like  a 
?nan,  if  not  like  a  Christian. 

*y?**X%*^% 

The  dark  shadows  of  night  lifted  and  rolled  away  into  eter- 
nity. The  red  sun  came  up  in  a  blaze  of  fire,  and  looked 
down  upon  the  great  wilderness.  There  was  a  stir  and  confu- 
sion in  the  camp  of  the  red  men ;  they  were  gathering  around 
the  council-fire  of  the  great  chief.  A  grave  matter  was  to  be 
decided,  a  question  of  life  and  death.  Captives  of  import- 
ance had  been  taken,  and  now  was  the  hour  of  doom.  In 
solemn  silence,  the  chiefs  and  principal  warriors  took  their 
seats  upon  the  earth.  The  old  men  spoke  first.  My  fate  was 
soon  decided. 

A  chief  with  gray  hair  made  a  speech  of  some  length, 
which  was  interpreted  to  me  by  Silver-Knife. 

"  Warriors,"  he  said,  "  does  any  of  you  know  whether  the 
white  man  has  a  country  of  his  own  ?  If  he  has  a  country, 
and  hunting-grounds,  why  does  he  come  to  take  our  game,  and 
kill  our  people  ?  Why  does  he  not  stay  at  home,  and  hunt, 
and  slay  his  awn  people  ?  I  will  tell  you ;  it  is  because  he  is 
not  willing  the  red  men  should  live.  He  wishes  to  kill  them 
all,  and  possess  their  lands.  I  have  heard  it  said  that  the 
pale-faces  came  across  the  Big  Water  in  large  canoes,  and 
that  our  people  used  them  well,  and  smoked  the  pipe  of  peace 
with  them.  But  they  forgot  this  kindness,  and  presently  be- 
gan to  kill  them.  They  drove  back  the  red  men  from  their 
hunting-grounds,  and  took  possession  of  their  land.  The  white 
man  and  the  Indian  cannot  live  together.  The  latter  dies, 
while  the  first  lives  and  prospers.  We  soon  shall  have  no 
place  to  dwell  in.  Our  country  will  be  taken  from  us,  and 
our  fathers'  graves  will  be  defiled. 
9* 


1 02  SAL  f  RR-KNIFE  : 

"  The  palo-faces  we^e  born  our  enemies.  We  must  slay 
them  ^wherever  Ve  fitfcl'  titam^  l  They  show  us  no  mercy,  and 
we  will  show  none  to  them.  They  say  they  came  to  trade 
with  us,  and  that  the  Great  Father  has  sent  us  good  wishes. 
But  what  do  we  know  of  ttie  Great  Father,  and  what  do  we 
care  for  good  wishes  ?  We  want  hunting-knives  and  guns. 
We  have  never  seen  the  Great  Father,  and  the  tales  they  tell 
of  his  power  may  be  all  fictions,  to  frighten  Indians. 

"  When  they  come  to  trade,  they  bring  us  articles  of  no 
value ;  and  they  cheat  us,  and  tell  us  lies.  If  their  Great 
Father  is  like  themselves,  we  don't  want  to  know  him,  for  he 
would  drink  fire-water,  and  get  drunk.  Such  a  great  chief 
would  look  bad  drunk,  and  would  not  be  fit  to  rule  Indians. 
This  pale-face  is  one  of  our  enemies.  He  came  out,  like  the 
rest  of  them,  to  fight,  and  kill  us,  and  make  us  drunk  with  his 
fire- water,  so  that  we  should  act  like  beasts,  and  not  like  men. 

"We  will  kill  him,  and  there  will  be  one  ravenous  bird  the 
less  to  buzz  about  our  ears.  The  blood  of  the  Crows  he  has 
slain  calls  for  vengeance.  They  will  not  rest  well  in  their 
graves  till  he  is  dead.  Let  him  die  like  a  dog,  or  any  vile 
thing  that  should  be  trodden  on." 

This  address  was  received  with  much  enthusiasm  and  ap- 
plause. It  accorded  well  with  Indian  notions  of  justice.  An- 
other chief  arose  and  said, 

"  He  had  listened  to  the  words  of  the  wise  and  eloquent 
chief,  and  they  were  just  and  good.  Let  the  pale-face  perish 
to-morrow.  He  has  come  to  us,  no  doubt,  with  lies  and  fire- 
water, and  his  thoughts  are -evil  toward  us.  He  has  slain  two 
of  our  warriors.  Let  him  sing  his  death-song,  and  die." 

Burrill,,  during  this  time,  sat  in  silence.  He  was  dressed 
after  the  fashion  of  a  chief  of  distinction.  He  had  given  no 
sign  of  emotion  during  the  harangues  of  the  chiefs,  save  an 
occasional  exclamation,  like 

"  It  is  good  !     It  is  just !  " 

He  now  arose  slowly  to  his  feet,  and  fixed  his  serpent  eyes 
upon  me.  I  met  his  cold,  revengeful  gaze  with  a  smile  of 
scorn. 

Yes,  I  would  have  smiled,  had  I  been  assured  it  would  have 
been  the  last  indication  of  contempt  ever  wreathed  upon  my 
lips.  I  felt  a  nameless,  desperate  pleasure  in  looking  back  his 
hate  with  no  sign  of  unmanly  shrinking.  They  might  have 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  103 

torn  my  flesh  with  hot  pincers,  and  wrung  from  me  no  cry  of 
agony. 

He  averted  his  eyes,  disconcerted ;  and  then,  as  if  ashamed, 
turned  them  upon  me  again.  But  there  was  that  in  mine 
that  made  him  quail.  Perhaps  I  looked  as  I  did  when 
I  stood  before  him  with  a  pistol  levelled  at  his  head.  His 
self-control  was  now  put  to  the  test,  for  passions  ungovern- 
able were  struggling  within  him.  At  that  moment  he  wished 
for  the  strength  of  the  lion,  that  he  might  fall  upon  and  tear 
me  limb  from  limb.  As  for  me,  my  strength  grew  with  the 
occasion,  and  a  strange,  almost  breathless  calmness  pervaded 
my  soul.  I  could  defy  him  —  defy  any,  every  thing.  I  saw 
the  eyes  of  Silver-Knife  fixed  upon  me  in  admiration  and 
pride,  silch  as  a  father  might  feel  for  a  son ;  while  a  smile, 
strange  in  its  placidity,  trembled  upon  his  lips,  and  lent  a 
light  unearthly  to  his  lofty  features. 

Burrill  spoke. 

"  I  have  listened  to  the  words  of  the  fathers  of  my  adopted 
people,  and  they  have  fallen  upon  nay  ears  like  dew  upon  the 
herbs,  or  rain  upon  the  grass.  I  have  gathered  wisdom  from 
the  motion  of  their  lips,  for  they  have  grown  wise  by  experience 
and  age. 

"  The  war-chiefs  have  spoken  truly  of  the  pale-faces. 
Their  voices  have  been  to  me  like  the  voice  of  Monedo.  The 
whites  were  once  my  people.  I  dwelt  with  them  many  moons. 
But  when  I  grew  old,  I  learned  they  were  bad.  I  heard 
them  tell  lies  to  the  Indians,  and  saw  them  make  them  drunken 
with  fire-water.  My  heart  grew  bitter  against  them.  I 
would  not  dwell  in  their  lodges.  I  reproached  them  for  their 
wickedness,  and,  shaking  the  dust  off  my  feet  for  a  testimony 
against  them,  went  out  from  among  them.  I  wandered  solitary 
and  sad  in  the  wilderness,  because  I  could  find  no  people  after 
my  heart.  Then  I  heard  of  the  great  Crow  nation",  and  knew 
that  they  were  those  I  was  destined  to  dwell  with  in  peace.  1 
came  to  you.  We  smoked  the  calumet  of  peace  together, 
and  the  smoke  went  down-  to  the  earth,  and  up  to  heaven,  in 
token  we  called  on  both  to  witness  our  good  faith.  We 
hunted  and  dwelt  together.  When  I  told  you  of  the  pale 
maiden  whom  I  had  set  my  heart  upon,  your  warriors  bade 
me  go  and  get  her,  and  make  a  wife  of  her.  Then  I  went 
to  her  land  afar  off,  and  beheld  her  face  again. 


104  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"  Monedo  favored  me,  and  she  journeyed  into  the  wilder- 
ness with  her  friends.  This  pale-face  came  with  her,  for  he 
thought  to  take  her  away  from  me,  and  make  her  mistress  of 
his  own  lodge.  I  warned  him  to  keep  away  ;  but  he  heeded 
me  not.  At  length  your  warriors  came,  and  we  took  the  pale 
flower  away,  and  she  arid  her  relations  are  with  us  now. 

"  I  was  wounded  and  sick,  and  I  told  your  warriors  to  hasten 
on  with  the  captives,  and  I  would  follow  as  fast  as  my  strength 
would  permit.  I  did,  and  behold,  this  son  of  Machinito  came 
upon  me  at  night  to  do  me  evil.  He  dogged  my  footsteps, 
with  other  pale-faces  whom  he  happened  to  find.  They  made 
me  a  prisoner,  and  menaced  me  with  death.  Again  your  war- 
riors came  and  saved  me.  You  are  a  great  people  —  I  hope 
you  will  live  forever.  You  say  the  white  man  must  die,  and 
you  are  wise ;  he  deserves  to  die.  But,  before  he  dies,  let 
him  witness  my  espousal  with  the  white  maiden.  We  shall 
see  whether  he  will  bear  it  like  a  warrior,  or  like  a  squaw. 
What  say  the  great  war-chiefs  ?  " 

A  murmur  of  approbation  ran  along  the  circle  of  braves. 

And  now  my  fate  was  sealed.  There  was  no  longer  a 
doubt.  I  was  to  die,  and  by  fire.  But  this  was  not  all ;  I 
was  to  behold  the  ruin  of  Madeleine  first,  as  a  terrible  pre- 
lude to  the  flames. 

This  was  the  work  of  Burrill,  and  it  staggered  me  like  a 
blow  from  a  strong  hand ;  I  heard  a  ringing  sound  in  my  ears, 
and  felt  a  horrible  faintness  and  sickness  in  my  brain.  Was 
it  for  this  that  I  had  been  reserved  —  to  witness  th'e  desecra- 
tion of  the  idol  I  had  set  up  in  the  most  sacred  place  in  my 
soul,  to  worship  ?  Was  it  for  this  I  had  been  a  pilgrim  in 
the  wilds  ?  Was  it  for  this  that  I  had  followed  the  footsteps 
of  that  girl  ?  An  espousal !  0,  mockery  !  0,  blasphemy  ! 
I  will  burst  these  bands.  I  will  trample  down  my  tormentors 

to  the  dust.  I Hush!  be  quiet,  my  thoughts!  —  back, 

madness  !  The  eyes  of  the  fiend  Burrill  are  fixed  exultingly 
upon  me,  and  I  would  not  have  him  read  my  agony  for  a  world. 
'*******•%%. 

Silver-Knife  is  doomed  also  • —  doomed  to  the  stake  and 
the  flame.  But  he  heeds  it  not.  His  thoughts  appear  to  be 
somewhere  else.  ^  *  *  The  council  is  broken  up  ;  but 
I  still  hear  the  voice  of  Burrill ;  it  comes  to  me  like  an  echo 
from  the  bottomless  pit.  How  dare  the  wretch  speak  of 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  105 

espousing  a  pure  woman  ?  ^  *  *  Is  it  possible  Heaven 
will  suffer  such  injustice  and  cruelty?  Shall  Madeleine  be 
sacrificed  ?  I  can  familiarize  myself  with  the  idea  of  death ; 
but  I  cannot  with  that ;  it  is  a  drop  more  than  I  can  bear, 
and  not  go  mad. "  

Bound  with  thongs  of  deerskin,  we  awaited  the  morrow, 
that  we  might  die.  No  hope  of  rescue ;  the  encampment  was 
full  of  warriors.  The  day  rolled  away,  and  I  tried  to  reconcile 
myself  to  death.  I  thought  of  my  sins,  and  prayed  that  God 
in  his  infinite  mercy  would  forgive.  I  knew  it  was  the  eleventh 
hour ;  but  even  that  hour  is  not  hopeless,  and  very  few  think 
seriously  of  death  before  that  time. 

I  thought  of  the  words  of  Holy  Writ,  and  regretted  I  had 
not  made  them  oftener  my  prayer  :  "So  teach  us  to  number 
our  days,  that  we  may  apply  our  hearts  unto  wisdom."  But 
men  seldom  number  their  days.  They  rather  make  it  a 
point  to  think  them  limitless.  When  they  feel  the  touch  of 
the  hand  that  is  never  warm  and  welcome,  the  appalling 
thought  occurs  for  the  first  time  that  they  must  die,  and  pass 
into  utter  darkness.  Dark  is  the  grave,  but  light,  bright  is 
the  doctrine  of  the  resurrection  to  the  believer. 

The  night  drew  on ;  the  last  night.  The  words  stunned 
and  paralyzed  me.  The  last  night  —  the  very  last  upon  this 
side  of  the  vast  and  terrible  boundary  which  is  a  dread  mys- 
tery to  the  living.  To-morrow  night  the  moon  and  stars  will 
shine  upon  my  ashes.  Hartley  Ferguson  will  be  swept  from 
the  face  of  the  earth  as  completely  as  if  he  had  never  inhaled 
the  breath  of  life.  What,  then?  Speak!  ye  who  have 
gone  before,  —  speak  from  the  tomb,  from  your  rottenness  and 
corruption,  and  tell  me  what  ye  have  seen,  'what  ye  have 
felt,  what  ye  have  suffered,  what  ye  have  enjoyed !  Speak, 
I  adjure  you !  Speak,  for  it  cannot  violate  your  fealty  to 
the  Imperishable.  He  will  permit  this  much  to  one  about  to 
die — I  know,  I  feel  that  He  will.  Still  ye  are  silent,  gods, 
angels,  saints,  spirits,  all !  I  rave  —  I  wander ;  and  the  soul 
of  the  untutored  Indian  is  calm. 


106  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

CHAPTER   XVI. 

REDEEMED. 

THE  sun  was  setting,  when  a  warrior  looked  into  the  lodge 
where  we  were  secured.  I  thought  little  of  the  circumstance, 
for  many  had  looked  in  upon  us  during  the  day.  I  did  not 
heed  him,  for  -I  was  endeavoring  to  fix  my  thoughts  upon 
heaven,  from  which  they  had  wandered  from  childhood. 
He  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  lodge,  and  stood  like  a 
statue  of  stone.  I  gave  him  no  attention.  Silver-Knife  was 
chanting  solemnly  portions  of  his  death-song.  The  intruder 
uttered  a  low,  guttural  sound.  I  raised  my  eyes.  A  figure, 
tall  and  majestic,  stood  near,  with  folded  arms.  Could  I 
credit  my  senses  ?  or  was  I  mad  ?  The  face  and  form  of 
Wickliffe  were  before  me  —  calm,  quiet,  unruffled,  self-pos- 
sessed ;  the  same  inexplicable  being  I  had  met  so  strangely 
on  the  prairies,  who  had  attached  himself  to  my  interest  in 
such  a  mysterious  manner.  I  did  not  cry  qut,  for  my 
thoughts  came  quickly,  and  taught  me  how  to  act.  An  un- 
guarded exclamation  might  have  endangered  my  friend.  In 
externals, ,  Wickliffe  was  an  Indian.  The  robe  of  skins,  the 
leggins,  the  moccasins,  the  paint  upon  the  face,  the  hair,  and 
even  the  expression,  were  all  in  keeping  with  that  character. 
He  held  up  his  finger  in  token  of  silence. 

"  At  midnight  expect  me. — You  shall  not  die. — I  will  save 
you  !  "  he  said  in  a  whisper,  laid  his  finger  once  more  upon 
his  lips,  waved  his  hand,  and  glided  from  the  lodge.  0 ! 
what  a  welcome  visitor  was  that  man  of  mystery !  The  words 
rang  in  my  ears  a  thousand,  thousand  times — "You  shall 
not  die;  I  will  save  you."  My  breath  came,  my  heart 
beat  once  more.  "At  midnight  expect  me."  Heavenly 
Father,  I  thank  thee !  Thou  hast  not  forgotten  me  in  my 
low  estate. 

I  exchanged  glances  with  Silver-Knife.  Our  very  looks 
spoke  —  spoke  of  life,  of  happiness.  No,  I  could  scarcely 
think  of  happiness ;  that  could  be  found  only  in  the  smiles 
of  Madeleine..  'My  fellow-prisoner  might  be  happy  ;  but  not 
I.  The  time  was  past  when  such  ideas  filled  my  heart ;  the 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  107 

shadow  of  Madeleine  no  longer  fell  thereon.  Why  should  I 
rejoice  at  the  hope  of  deliverance,  when  she  was  still  in  deadly 
peril  ?  Wretch  that  I  was,  to  forget  her  an  instant  in  my 
selfishness!  As  if  I  could  find  pleasure  in  freedom,  or  a 
delight  anywhere  without  her.  ^  ^  ^  ^  And  I  to 
escape,  and  leave  her  in  the  power  of  Burrill.  But  stay !  I 
am  too  fast.  I  may  not  escape.  Wickliffe  may  be  discov- 
ered and  fail ;  and  the  consequence  of  that  failure  will  be 
—  will  be  —  death. 

Hours  and  minutes  are  long  when  great  events  hang  upon 
them.  When  they  decide  the  question  of  living  or  dying, 
each  second  has  a  gray  hair  for  the  temples  and  a  wrinkle 
for  the  face.  Burrill  came  in  the  evening,  taunted  and  re- 
viled me.  He  pictured  the  happiness  of  himself  and  Made- 
leine. He  spoke  of  her  as  loving  him,  and  scorning  me.  I 
remembered  the  evening  when  I  had  taken  her  hand,  and  how 
she  withdrew  it ;  and  deemed,  for  the  moment,  that  Burrill 
spoke  the  truth,  and  no  lie.  He  talked  of  his  lodge,  and  her 
as  the  light  of  it.  He  knew  his  words  wrung  my  soul  with 
a  strong  agony,  and  he  dwelt  long  on  the  picture  so  hateful 
to  my  contemplation.  After  that  he  spoke  of  the  stake,  the 
fagot,  and  the  fire.  I  could  not  resent  —  I  could  but  hear 
him.  I  shut  my  eyes  and  let  him  talk  on.  When  he  had 
ceased  through  want  of  words,  I  spoke  to  him  for  the  first 
time  since  I  had  been  in  his  power.  I  mastered  myself,  and 
spoke  calmly  also;  yes,  calmly,  for  the  WILL  is  omnipotent 
when  it  awakes,  and  shakes  itself  like  a  lion,  and  clothes  itself 
in  strength. 

"  Burrill,  I  will  speak  to  you,  perhaps  for  the  last  time.  I 
am,  it  appears,  very  near  death ;  and  I  will  speak  as  a  dying 
MAN,  and  not  as  a  dying  CHRISTIAN.  Hear  me  and  tremble, 
for  cowards  always  tremble  at  the  truth.  I  am  now  so  near 
my  dissolution  that  my  words  must  be  to  you  like  the  words 
of  inspiration,  and  as  such  you  may  regard  them." 

My  voice  was  very  deep  and  solemn,  for  I  meant  to  in- 
timidate and  awe  him.  He  was  startled  at  my  manner. 

"  Burrill,  you  are  a  villain,  and  a  murderer.  You  have  be- 
trayed the  innocent,  as  Judas  Iscariot  betrayed  his  Master. 
The  price  of  blood  is  upon  your  hands.  To-morrow-night  it 
will  cry  from  the  ground  where  my  ashes  repose,  and  you 
will  hear  the  cry.  You  will  never  sleep  soundly  after  that. 


108  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

That  cry  will  be  ever  in  your  ear,  louder  than  ten-fold  thun- 
der ;  and  I  also  will  be  near  you.  You  shall  see  me  scorched 
and  blackened,  as  I  soon  shall  be.  The  spectacle  will  be  too 
terrible  for  you ;  it  will  fill  you  with  horror.  The  time  shall 
come,  if  this  deed  be  done,  when  you  would  give  all  your 
hopes  of  salvation  to  bid  me  live.  I  will  haunt  you  till  I 
drive  you  mad ;  but  I  doubt  if  you  ever  live  to  go  mad,  for 
something  speaks  within  me,  and  tells  me  your  end  is  near. 
God  will  not  suffer  you  to  live  long  to  pollute  the  air.  You 
will  pass  away  in  darkness  and  in  blood.  Eternal  justice  will 
overtake  and  hurl  you  to  the  dust  —  to  the  pit  —  to  hell 
itself!  I  warn  you,  —  I  warn  you  by  God  above,  and  Satan 
beneath,  not  to  wrong  Madeleine  Leroy,  or  her  gentle  sister." 

The  ruffian  shuddered,  and  grew  pale. 

"  I  will  not  rest  until  I  have  scathed  your'  scoundrel  heart 
with  the  eternal  fires.  I  will  fill  your  veins  with!  the  hissing 
poison  of  remorse.  I  will  follow  you  in  dark  places ;  I  will 
terrify  you  with  a  burning  hand  that  never  shall " 

"  Hold !  hold !  or  I  shall  slay  you  on  the  spot !  "  he  cried, 
and  rushed  from  me,  as  if  the  curses  I  had  invoked  were 
already  taking  effect. 

"A  small  heart  has  the  snake  in  the  grass,"  said  Silver- 
Knife. 

"  '  The  wicked  flee  when  no  man  pursueth,'  "  I  replied. 

A  minute  had  not  elapsed  before  Burrill  appeared  again  at 
the  door  of  the  lodge,  and  shook  his  clenched  hand  at  me. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  white  stranger  who  promised  us 
deliverance  ? "  I  asked  of  Silver-Knife. 

"  He  had  the  look  of  one  who  would  come  to  us  through 
fire  and  water.  There  was  decision  in  his  movements,  the 
pride  of  the  eagle  in  his  eye,  the  firmness  of  an  Indian  upon 
his  lips.  He  is  brave." 

"  Then  you  have  met  him  before  ?  " 

"I  have ;  and  who  can  see  and  forget  him ?  He  scorns 
danger ;  he  laughs  in  the  face  of  death." 

"  Where  have  you  seen  him  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  him  upon  the  hills,  and  in  the  valleys ;  on 
the  prairies,  and  on  the  high  mountains ;  and  he  was  always 
the  same.  If  I  told  him  of  danger,  he  smiled  ;  if  I  told  him 
to  fly,  he  frowned.  He  is  too  proud  to  tell  his  thoughts  to 
strangers,  especially  to  the  Indian.  The  Indians  know  and 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  109 

fear  him;  they  never  seek — they  shun  him.  Yet  he  has 
influence  with  some  of  the  Indian  tribes;  but  he  scorns  to 
exert  it." 

"  Such  is  Wickliffe,"  I  answered.  "  You  have  described 
him  well.  But  he  has  a  heart  —  a  soul ;  I  respect  —  I  love 
him.  He  has  been  near  to  save  me  in  the  hour  of  peril ;  he 
has  hovered  about  like  an  angel  of  beneficence  to  shield  and 
bless  me.  I  know  not  why  it  is  thus.  I  cannot  fathom  him ; 
he  is  too  deep  for  me ;  and  I  have  kept  my  eyes  open  at  night 
to  ponder  and  weigh  his  actions.  Yes,  he  will  come  — 
come  to  snatch  us  from  death."  ^ 

Perhaps  he  loves  Madeleine !  Why  have  I  not  thought 
of  this  before  ?  He  saw  her,  and  a  single  glance  was  enough. 
But  no !  away  with,  the  thought ;  it  is  folly,  it  is  ingrati- 
tude, and  the  heart's  foul  madness.  To  doubt  Wickliffe, 
to  accuse  him  of  selfishness,  is  baseness.  *  *  *  'Tis 
dark  now.  ^  ^  ^  Several  hours  of  the  solemn  night 
have  gone.  It  must  be  near  midnight.  *  ^  *  How 
can  he  come?  *  ^  *  They  will  discover  him  —  no 
human  being  can  save  us,  and  I  shall  be  obliged  to  witness  the 
sacrifice  on  the  morrow.  *  ^  ^  Burrill  and  Madeleine! 
what  mockery  !  *  *  *  It  is  past  -midnight  —  I  know  it 
must  be  —  the  night  has  been  terribly  long.  ^  *  *  I 
am  not  ready  to  die !  I  am  unfitted  entirely ;  this  forlorn 
hope  has  destroyed  me.  Perhaps  I  might  have  died  like  a 
man,  if  I  had  not  hoped  for  escape.  It  is  the  certainty  that 
makes  a. man  prepare  himself.  *  *  *  No,  he  won't 
come.  *  *  *  I  shall  perish.  Silver-Knife  is  calm. 
He  says  it  lacks  an  hour  of  midnight.  *  ^  *  I  can't 
believe  it.  The  day  already  begins  to  streak  the  horizon. 
=fc  $?  %  The  light  will  soon  stream  in  at  the  door  of 
the  lodge.  *  *  *  The  sun  will  be  up,  and  I  shall 
catch  a  glimpse  of  my  last  sunrise.  ^  ^  ^  And  yet 
Silver-Knife  tells  me  it  is  not  midnight.  He  must  be  mad ; 
this  terrible  suspense  has  turned  and  unsettled  his  mind.  I 
don't  wonder ;  my  own  brain  is  unsteady,  and  strange  faces 
go  dancing  before  my  eyes.  *  ^  #  I  should  like  to 
look  upon  the  stars  once  more  ;  but  that  cannot  be.  I  may 
see  them  before  I  die  to-morrow  night,  possibly.  *  #  ^ 
And  Madeleine  !  I  would  I  could  see  her  for  a  moment 
—  one  miserable  moment.  ^  ^  ^  Be  firm,  my  heart  — 
10 


110  SILVER-KNIFE : 

be  firm  !  I  must  •  not  die  like  a  woman  —  let  me  remember  I 
am  a  man,  and  my  spirit  should  be  unconquerable.  *  ^  * 
I  knew  he  would  not  come.  ^  ^  ^  He  has  forgotten 
his . 

One  of  the  skins  of  which  the  lodge  was  composed  was 
lifted,  and  Wickliffe  glided  in.  Silently  he  severed  our  bands 
with  hrs  hunting-knife,  and  put  arms  into  our  hands.  How 
my  heart  bounded  with  joy  when  I  felt  my  "  revolvers " 
once  more  at  my  side,  and  my  limbs  free  !  Our  deliverer 
beckoned  us  to  follow,  lifted  again  the  skin,  and  glided 
from  the  lodge  as  silently  as  he  came.  We  imitated  his 
movements,  and  stood  once  more  in  the  open  air,  armed  and 
free.  With  a  start  of  alarm,  I  saw  half-naked  figures 
stretched  sleeping  upon  the  ground.  We  held  our  breath  as 
if  the  very  motion  of  it  would  awaken  them,  and  walked  un- 
challenged and  unnoticed  away.  In  a  few  seconds  we  were 
in  a  dense  thicket.  I  saw  several  dark  forms  approaching,  and 
laid  my  finger  upon  the  trigger  of  my  revolver.  But  that 
caution  was  useless ;  they  were  my  friends,  tried  and  true. 
I  should  have  recognized  the  tall  form  of  Leroy  in  any  place. 
His  friend  and  companion,  old  Ironsides,  was  by  his  side.  He 
looked  grim  and  forbidding.  I  shook  him  silently  and  fer- 
vently by  the  hand,  and  then  greeted  Sutler  and  Basil  in 
like  manner,  for  those  persons  were  indeed  present. 

I  felt  thankful  for  my  escape.  Kneeling  down  beneath 
.the  moon  and  stars,  and  bowing  my  head  in  my  hands,  I 
poured  out  my  gratitude  in  the  ear  of  the  Almighty.  Yes,  I 
uttered  a  prayer  of  thanksgiving,  and  wept  tears  of  gratitude. 

When  I  arose,  the  heads  of  all  present  were  t  bared,  and 
tears  trembled  on  the  lids  of  Leroy. 

"And  now  for  Madeleine  !  "  I  exclaimed. 

"  What  would  you  do  ?  "  asked  Leroy. 

"Save  her,  or  perish,"  I  replied,  sternly. 

"  I  'm  going  on  that  sarvice  myself,"  he  answered. 

"And  I  also,"  added  Wckliffe. 

"And  I,"  said  Sutler. 

"And  I  shall  not  stay  behind,"  said  Basil. 

"Two's  enough,"  continued  Leroy.  "More  would  en- 
danger the  whole  affair.  And  if  we  don't  succeed,  why,  I  am 
sure,  two's  enough  to  die  by  the  hands  o'  them  heathen 
creters." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  Ill 

"  Them 's  my  feelin's,"  said  Sutler,  "  and  I  '11  be  the  man 
as  '11  go  into  the  camp  of  the  Philistians." 

"  No,  that  I  shall  not  permit ;  if  there  is  danger,  I  will 
dare  it.  Death  by  torture  is  horrible ;  but  I  do  not  fear  to 
die  fighting  like  a  man,  and  in  a  good  cause,"  I  added. 

"  We  have  no  time  to  waste,"  said  Wicklifie.  "  The  Crows 
will  soon  discover  the  loss  of  their  prisoners,  and  then  adieu 
to  the  thought  of  rescuing  the  family  of  Leroy  for  the  present. 
I  am  expecting  every  instant  to  hear  the  sound  of  hellish 
clamor  from  the  encampment.  What  we  do,  let  us  do 
quickly." 

"  The  man  of  the  big  heart  has  spoken  well,"  said  Silver- 
Knife,  who  had  hitherto  been  silent.  "I  am  an  Indian ;  I 
have  been  reared  in  the  wilderness,  and  know  well  the  habits 
of  the  red  men.  I  am  best  fitted  to  perform  the  dangerous 
business  you  talk  of.  Let  the  pale  medicine  man  have  his 
way ;  he  is  brave  and  trusty.  We  will  enter  the  enemy's 
lodge  together,  and  his  knife  shall  sunder  the  bands  of  the 
prisoners  like  flax.  The  Big  Heart,  and  the  Long  Rifle,  and 
the  others,  shall  be  near  to  help  us,  in  case  of  a  surprise.  Has 
the  Indian  chief  spoken  wisely  ?  " 

"  There  is  wisdom  in  the  words  of  our  red  brother,"  re- 
plied Wicklifie.  "  We  will  not  disregard  them ;  but  it  is 
necessary  that  I  should  go  and  lead  the  way.  I  know  the 
lodge  where  the  captives  languish." 

"Let  it  be  so,  and  God  prosper  you !  "  said  Leroy,  fervently. 
"  But  first  you  must  put  on  the  Indian  toggery,  and  paint." 

In  five  minutes  I  was  transformed,  so  far  as  externals  went, 
into  a  Crow  warrior.  My  hair  was  drawn  to  the  top  of  my 
head  tight,  and  tied  with  a  string ;  after  which  it  was  orna- 
mented profusely  with  feathers.  My  face  was  painted  by 
Silver-Knife  in  the  most  approved  style.  When  this  was  done, 
a  robe  of  skins  was  thrown  over  my  shoulders,  and  my  toilet 
was  soon  completed. 


112  SILVER-KNIFE  : 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


BURRILL    AND     MADELEINE. 

SILENCE  rested  upon  the  Crow  village.  The  moon  and  the 
stars  were  shining  brightly  in  heaven,  to  light  the  wanderer 
upon  earth. 

With  steps  that  made  no  echo,  we  traversed  the  borders  of 
the  wood  that  skirted  the  encampment.  The  lodge  was  at  the 
extremity  of  the  village.  Wickliffe  pointed  it  out  to  us. 

"  Now  imitate  me,"  said  the  war-chief,  leading  the  way. 
Stooping  until  his  tall  figure  was  nearly  double,  he  gradually 
and  noiselessly  advanced. 

Like  a  fox  exerting  his  cunning  to  baffle  his  prey,  like  the 
panther  that  gives  no  warning  of  his  approach,  like  the  ser- 
pent creeping  in  the  dank  weeds,  we  neared  the  unsuspecting 
foe.  We  were  very  near  the  object  of  our  hopes  and  fears. 
The  guide  beckoned  us  to  stop.  We  did  so,  and  he  went  forward 
and  put  his  ear  against  the  lodge.  No  enemy  was  in  sight. 
We  had  approached  the  lodge  in  the  rear,  and,  if  a  Crow  kept 
guard,  it  was  upon  the  other  side. 

After  a  little  pause,  Silver-Knife  motioned  us  to  approach. 
We  went  forward,  and  stood  by  his  side.  Voices  came  to  our 
ears  from  within.  One  was  the  voice  of  Burrill :  could  I 
hear  it  anywhere  upon  the  face  of  the  wide  earth,  and  not  re- 
cognize it  ?  I  had  heard  him  speak  but  a  few  times,  and  yet 
every  note,  every  intonation  of  his  voice,  was  graven  upon 
my  memory,  as  by  the  hand  of  the*  Master  of  Life.  It  was 
to  the  mind  what  branding  the  flesh  with  a  hot  iron  would  be 
to  the  body ;  it  had  left  its  mark,  to  endure  forever.  Thus 
the  tones  and  features  of  some  men  become  obnoxious.  Had 
I  met  him  under  any  circumstances,  I  could  not  have  loved 
him.  I  should  have  repulsed  and  drawn  myself  away  from 
him.  .  We  were  natural  enemies.  We  could  not  have  been 
friends.  I  do  not  judge  always  by  the  face,  and  indeed, 
did  I  not  see  the  face  at  all,  I  should  either  like  or  dislike ; 
for  the  presence  of  a  human  being  invariably  affects  mo 
agreeably  or  disagreeably,  and  makes  me  a  friend  or  other- 
wise, as  the  case  may  be.  Animate  bodies,  like  inanimate 
ones,  act  upon  each  other.  The  good  exert  a  good  influence, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  113 

if  they  do  not  speak ;  tind  the  bad,  if  they  are  dumb,  exert  a 
bad  influence.  The  human  soul,  like  mercury,  is  affected  by 
whatever  approaches  it ;  but  it  affects,  also,  whatever  it  ap- 
proaches. In  the  presence  of  some  people,  my  heart  is  hard 
and  stern,  and  I  feel  no  love  or  sympathy  with  my  kind ;  in 
the  society  of  others,  I  change,  and  a  thousand  bright  thoughts 
have  birth,  and  I  feel  like  blessing  the  whole  world. 

The  guide  pointed  to  a  small  opening  in  the  lodge.  I 
looked  in.  By  the  light  of  a  smouldering  fire  I  saw  four 
persons  —  Madeleine,  Mary,  Madge,  and  Burrill.  The  latter 
was  standing  in  his  usual  attitude,  his  arms  folded  upon  his 
chest,  and  his  chin  resting  almost  upon  his  breast.  The  cap- 
tives were  seated  upon  the  ground.  The  mother  held  a  hand 
of  each. 

*'  Then  you  are  still  obstinate,"  said  Burrill. 

"  I  reject  your  conditions,"  replied  Madeleine. 

"  Have  you  considered  well  the  subject  ?  Are  you  prepared 
for  the  results?  "  added  Burrill. 

"  Considered  !  No  !  It  needs  no  consideration,"  she  re- 
torted, rising  to  her  feet  with  grace  and  dignity.  "  Such  a 
subject  is  beneath  my -consideration.  Trouble  me  no  more ; 
I  am  resolved.  I  am  a  Leroy;  you  cannot  change  me." 

As  she  stood  there  and  stretched  out  her  hand,  I  saw  a 
string  of  dressed  deer-skin  depending  from  her  wrist ;  her 
hands  had  been  bound,  and  the  bands  were  loosened  for  the 
occasion.  Even  Burrill,  perhaps,  was  ashamed  to  stand  in  the 
presence  of  a  woman  he  had  disgraced  by  bonds. 

You  know  that  Ferguson  is  a  prisoner,"  he  continued. 
I  do,  if  a  tongue  like  yours  can  be  trusted." 
He  dies  to-morrow." 

You  wish  to  intimidate  me  !  "  cried  Madeleine. 
Your  lover  dies  to-morrow ;  it  is  thus  decreed  by  the 
chiefs  and  warriors.     Think  you  they  will  retract,  and  show 
mercy  ?     Is  it  in  the  nature  of  a  Crow  to  be  merciful  ?  " 

"  Did  you  speak  of  mercy  ?  Stop,  and  let  the  wolves  that 
howl  in  the  desert  talk  of  gentleness,  and  the  hyena  of  kind- 
ness. Stop,  and  let  every  vile  thing  talk  of  goodness,  and 
every  mean  thing  of  greatness." 

"  I  have  not  told  you  all  yet,"  added  Burrill,  calmly. 

"  Can  you  save  him  ?  " 

"  I  can." 

10* 


114  ^  SILVER-KNIFE  I 

•  "  And  will  you  ?  " 

"No." 

"  Then  the  curses  of  heaven  will  fall  upon  you ! ';  ex- 
claimed Madeleine,  wildly. 

"  You  can  save  him,"  answered  Burrill. 

"  How  ?  Tell  me,  and  I  will  forgive  the  wrong  you  have 
done  —  cease  to  remember  my  sufferings  —  even  strive  to  be 
your  friend,"  she  cried,  vehemently. 

"  Become  my  wife." 

"  No,  that  may  not  be." 

"  Then  Ferguson  dies  !  " 

She  drew  up  her  figure,  folded  her  arms  upon  her  heaving 
breast,  and  was  silent. 

"  I  have  not  told  you  how  he  will  die." 

"Speak!" 

"  By  fire." 

"  In  the  name  of  mercy,  let  not  this  thing  be !  I  will  kneel, 
I  will  sue  as  a  s^ject  sues  to  a  king,  I  will  be  your  slave ; 
but  your  wife,  never !  " 

"  Madeleine,  I  love  you  as  one  loves  his  own  hand,  or  his 
own  eyes.  Your  foolish  obstinacy  ^drives  me  to  the  last 
extremity." 

Madeleine  sank  sobbing  upon  her  knees,  and  hid  her  face  in 
her  mother's  bosom. 

"  Hush,  child !  be  calm,  be  strong !  Our  Heavenly  Father 
lives.  His  arm  is  not  shortened,  that  he  cannot  save,  nor  his 
ear  heavy,  that  he  cannot  hear,"  said  Madge.  ""  Do  not 
despair;  trust  in  him.  Deliverance  may  be  near.  When 
has  been  the  time  that  he  hath  not  tempered  the  wind  to  the 
.shorn  lamb,  or  when  have  the  righteous  been  forsaken  ?  Even 
now  there  is  a  whisper  of  hope  in  my  heart,  soft,  gentle,  as 
the  sweet  south-west." 

Madeleine  was  silent. 

"  My  children,"  continued  Madge,  "  God  led  the  Israelites 
forty  years  through  the  wilderness,  a  <d  was  with  them  night 
and  day;  and  while  they  trusted  in  him,  he  delivered  them 
out  of  all  their  afflictions." 

"  Beware  what  you  do,"  said  Mary  to  Burrill.  "The  hour 
of  retribution  may  come  sooner  than  you  dream.  We  are  in 
your  power  now,  it  is  true ;  but  some  sudden  turn  of  the 
wheel  of  fortune  may  change  everything.  Deliverance  may 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY..  115 

come  in  the  hour  of  our  greatest  need.  Think  you  that  deeds 
like  yours  can  pass  without  punishment  ?  If  you  do,  you 
deceive  yourself.  Strong  and  determined  hearts  are  pursuing 
you  ;  they  will  follow  you  to  the* death,  for  vengeance.  Will 
Leroy  forget  his  wife  and  children  ?  0,  no !  the  lion  will 
forget  his  whelps  sooner !  I  feel  a  presentiment  that  my 
father  is  near.  I  expect  momentarily  to  hear  the  crack  of  his 
deadly  rifle.  Well  may  you  start  at  the  mention  of  Leroy. 
There  is  a  long  score  of  wrongs  to  settle  between  you." 

Burrill  involuntarily  glanced  about  him  in  alarm,  as  if  fear- 
ful Mary's  words  would  prove  prophetic.  Then,  with  a  sneer, 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  me,  Miss  Leroy  !  I  have 
settled  a  great  many  old  scores  in  my  time,  and  shall  settle 
another  to-morrow." 

He  turned  to  go. 

"  Stay,  one  moment !  "  exclaimed  Madeleine,  starting  up 
suddenly.  "  Let  me  shower  upon  you  my  bitterest  maledic- 
tions !  The  hand  of  retributive  justice  will  »est  upon  you,  like 
a  mountain  of  iron.  May  darkness  bring  a  terror,  and  day  a 
continual  reproach!  May  your  friends  forsake  you  in  the 
hour  of  need,  and  your  love  turn  to  hatred " 

"Hold,  Madeleine,  hold!"  cried  Madge.  "Bless,  and 
curse  not.  That  which  we  give  returns  again  to  our  own 
bosom.  Love  your  enemies,  and  pray  for  those  who  persecute 
you;  hast  forgotten,  my  child — my  first-born  ?  " 

"  Mother,  what  you  speak  of  is  impossible.  Would  you 
have  your  daughter  pollute  her  lips  by  praying  for  the  welfare 
of  such  a  wretch  ?  Would  you  have  her  prostitute  her  purity 
of  soul  by  loving  him,  even  as  a  Christian  ?  No  I  no !  not 
that  —  not  that !  Rather  let  me,  like  David,  pray  that  he 
may  go  down  quickly  into  hell,  where  the  worm  dieth  not, 
and  the  fire  is  not  quenched." 

"  I  will  depart  now,"  said  Burrill,  with  something  of  wild- 
ness  in  his  manner,  as  if  the  evil  had  already  begun  to  work. 
"I  will  depart,  cursed  in  soul  and  body,  in  joint  and  mar- 
row. But  you  cannot  curse  me  out  of  existence.  I  shall 
live  till  to-morrow,  to  punish  those  who  delight  to  torture  me 
with  words.  Don't  forget,  Madeleine  ;  you  shall  be  there  at 
the  death." 

WTith  a  sharp  cry,  Madeleine  sank  fainting  into  her  mother's 
arms,  while  Burrill  walked  away.  As  he  disappeared,  we 


116  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

heard  him  speak  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  lodge,  as  if  giving 
orders. 

"  Stay  where  you  are,"  said  Silver-Knife,  in  a  whisper  ; 
then,  tightening  his  belt  and  unsheathing  hi^ hunting-knife,  he 
moved  away  on  tip-toe.  As  he  went,  he  reminded  me  of  some 
terrific  shadow  that  falls  unexpectedly  on  one's  path ;  or  a 
ghost,  visible  to  the  eye,  but  unsubstantial  to  the  touch. 

By  long  practice  only  does  the  forest  wanderer  acquire  his 
flitting,  noiseless  locomotion,  when  he  surprises  the  watchful 
foe. 

With  eyes  upon  the  stretch,  as  if  £o  see  things  which  do 
not  exist ;  with  nostrils  dilated,  as  if  to  scent  the  danger  at 
a  distance ;  with  hands  put  forth,  as  if  he  would  throw  half 
his  weight  upon  the  air  ;  with  breath  half  suspended,  as  if 
breathing  would  betray  ;  with  feet  that  glide  like  serpents,  the 
red  man  seeks  'his  prey,  by  night  and  by  day,  in  storm  and 
in  sunshine,  in  heat  and  in  cold. 

Slow  were  the  movements  of  the  Indian.  I  watched  and 
strained  my  eyes  after  his  dim  outline,  till  they  seemed  bursting 
with  pain.  On  him  alojie  depended  the  rescue  of  the  captives. 
All  rested  upon  his  sagacity  and  coolness.  One  misstep,  one 
inadvertent  motion,  or  a  breath  above  a  zephyr,  a  cough,  the 
crack  of  a  stick  no  larger  than  a  needle,  the  nutter  of  a  leaf, 
might  prove  fatal  to  us  and  the  captives.  Imagine,  then,  if 
you  can,  with  what  intense  interest  we  followed  the  war-chief 
with  our  eyes. 

But  was  he  calm  and,  collected  ?  Were  his  nerves  drawn 
still  and  tight,  like  iron  cords?  Was  there  any  trembling  of 
the  flesh,  or  rebellion  of  the  heart  ?  Endow  a  statue  of  bronze 
with  locomotion,  and  locomotion  only,  and  ask  if  its  heart 
boats,  if  its  blood  circulates,  if  it  thinks.  The  high  qualities 
or  his  soul  were  raised  far  above  the  common  shrinkings  of 
civilized  man. 

Wickliffe  stood  at  my  side.  And  what  was  he  then,  in  that 
moment  of  suspense,  peril  and  expectation  ?  Was  he  the  same 
I  had  known  hitherto  ?  The  very  same,  only  stronger,  more 
soli-reliant,  more  terrible  in  himself. 

His  head  was  thrust  slightly  forward,  while  the  muscles  of- 
thc  neck  were  prominent  and  fixed  like  stone;  his  eyes  were 
riveted  upon  the  war-chief.  The  latter  gradually  disappeared ; 
but  we  kept  our.  eyes  on  the  spot  where  we  had  last  seen  him. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  117 

The  deadly  silence  was  at  length  broken  by  a  sound  that 
made  me  shiver  —  a  heavy,  ominous  sound,  like  a  falling  body, 
and  a  knife  tnrust  home  to  the  heart.  There  might  have  been 
a  suppressed  groan  or  a  cry,  but  silence  came  before  the  ear 
was  scarcely  conscious  it  had  been  alarmed.  Instantly  the 
chief  appeared.  He  held  a  smoking  scalp  in  his  hand,  and 
his  knife  was  reeking.  The  story  was  told,  a  story  of  death 
at  night.  We  followed  him  in  silence.  Near  the  door  of  the 
lodge  lay  a  corpse  yet  steaming  with  its  own  warmth.  The 
flesh  was  yet  quivering  its  last  adieu  to  life.  Silver-Knife 
thrust  aside  the  skins  that  answered  the  purpose  of  a  cjoor, 
and,  stepping  quickly  into  the  lodge,  stood  erect  before  the 
captives.  We  tarried  a  moment,  to  give  him  time  to  announce 
the  coming  of  friends.  We  heard  a  smothered  exclamation  of 
surprise  from  Madeleine,  and  a  warning  sound  of  silence  from 
the  Indian ;  and  then  glided  in  like  spectres.  No  word  was 
spoken,  but  hands  were  wrung  in  silence,  and  in  tears.  My 
pulses  thrilled  with  delight  at  the  touch  of  Madeleine ;  and 
this  time  her  hand  was  not  withdrawn. 

I  led  her  forth  into  the  open  air,  with  a  soul  brimming  with 
gratitude  to  God.  The  others  followed  with  no  tmriecessary 
delay  ;  for  all  felt  the  need  of  action,  and  not  of  a  scene. 

Stepping  silently  over  the  Crow  warrior,  with  hearts  almost 
motionless,  and  breath  pent  up  in  the  lungs,  we  turned  our 
noiseless  steps  towards  our  friends.  As  we  flitted  over  the 
ground  like  midnight  spirits,  I  felt  the  weight  of  Madeleine 
grow  heavier  upon  my  arm.  She  had  swooned.  I  lifted  her 
in  my  arms,  and  bore  her  forward  as  a  miser  might  carry  a 
treasure  of  inestimable  value.  It  is  often  true  that  persons 
most  quiet  and  unobtrusive  upon  ordinary  occasions  are  the 
most  firm  and  self-possessed  in  situations  of  danger.  It  was 
thus  with  Mary ;  for  she  was  now  equal  to  the  emergency. 
She  clung  to  Wickliffe  without  a  sign  of  shrinking  or  fear  ; 
and  that  was  a  moment  requiring  all  the  strength  of  the 
strongest  soul.  Every  moment  we  were  expecting  to  hear  an 
alarm,  war-cries,  and  savage  outbursts  of  anger. 

It  came,  even  while  Leroy  was  embracing  his  lost  and 
recovered  ones ;  wild,  loud,  startling,  clear,  terrible  as  the 
watchword  of  hell.  Once,  twice,  thrice,  it  pealed  out  upon 
the  night,  and  sent  a  shiver  of  horror  to  the  hearts  of  the 
females.  "On-!"  hissed  Leroy,  "  on  !"  and  on  we  went. 


118  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

Madeleine  had  revived,  and  was  now  clinging  convulsively  to 
my  arm  for  protection,  as  we  hurried  along  through  bush  and 
wood.  On  we  sped,  like  the  poor,  belated  wretch  when  the 
tides  of  the  Solway  are  at  his  back,  threatening  to  swallow 
him  up  at  every  moment ;  on,  like  the  condemned  when,  break- 
ing from  his  executioners,  he  flies  from  death  and  the  gallows, 
and  hears  the  tread  of  the  hangman  at  his  heels  ;  on,  like  one 
who  runs  from  the  leaping  flames'  of  a  burning  prairie,  and 
hears  the  liquid  fire  hissing  upon  his  track ;  on,  like  spirits 
escaped  from  Hades.  Fearful  moment  —  moment  to  appal 
the  hearts  of  the  boldest ! 

The  Crow  village  rolled  out  its  masses  of  red  fiends. 
"  Whoop !  ha  I  the  prisoners  have  escaped,  a  warrior  lies 
bleeding,  whoop  !  whoop  !  "  What  sounds  to  come  from  hu^ 
man  throats  !  The  demons  might  father  them,  and  take  pride 
in  it.  Above  all  the  din,  I  heard  the  voice  of  Burrill,  stern, 
stormy,  loud  as  a  double-tongued  trumpet.  When  the  first 
surprise  was  over,  the  savages  swarmed  away  into  the  woods 
upon  every  side,  and  a  hot  shower  of  balls  came  rattling  after 
us,  tearing  the  bark  from  the  trees,  and  hastening  our  footsteps. 

"  Forward  !  forward  !  "  said  WicklifFe  ;  "  the  horses  are 
near." 

"  Thank  God !  "  I  exclaimed.  "  Then  you  have  provided 
horses." 

"  I  will  release  your  arm,"  said  Madge  to  Leroy.  "  I  am 
strong,  and  old  Ironsides  has  work  to  do.  Children,  do  not 
encumber  our  protectors  ;  't  is  your  mother  that  speaks." 

"  Wa !  "  said  Silver-Knife.  "  Let  them  go  forward,  and 
we  will  cover  them  with  our  bodies." 

"  On  straight  before  you,"  cried  Leroy,  "  and  we  will  give- 
a  parting  salute  to  them  heathen  creturs." 

In  a  single  instant  the  order  of  march  had  changed,  and 
the  females  were  flying  along  before  us  like  startled  fawns. 

"  If  some  of  them  varmin  don't  lose  their  fakilties,  I  '11 
never  eat  no  more  bufferlers  on  this  uncultivated  sile,"  said 
Sutler.  "  It  's  rayther  my  conviction  that  one  or  more  on 
'em  '11  breakfast, on  a  half-ounce  o'  lead.  Them  's  my  feelin's." 

"  Be  cool !  be  cool !  "  exclaimed  Wickliife.  "  When  they 
are  near  enough,  we  will  give  them  a  volley  ;  but  be  careful 
and  don't  waste  powder.  If  you  see  a  pale-face  among  them, 
riddle  him,  in  God's  name  !  " 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  119 

"  Amen  !  "  I  ejaculated.  "  God  send  good  fortune  to  every 
man  who  puts  a  bullet  through  his  body." 

"  Old  Ironsides  is  here,"  said  Leroy.  "  I  want  you  all  to 
remember  that ;  and,  if  there  's  any  nice  shootin'  to  be  done, 
I  goes  in  for  it.  There  's  nothin  like  the  eye ;  I  do  my 
extra  fine  shooting  in  the  eye.  I  don't  doit  bungling,  neither, 
and  an't  never  afraid  to  see  my  work  arter  it 's  finished.  But 
hush  !  I  see  painted  faces  and  feathered  heads.  'T  is  time  to 
speak  to  'em." 

An  old  hunter  will  bring  his  piece  to  his  face  with  aston- 
ishing celerity,  and  level  the  sights  down  to  the  object  as 
quickly.  For  a  moment  only  was  the  tall,  bony  figure  of 
Leroy  fixed  and  motionless;  then  the  fire  belched  from  the 
throat  of  old  Ironsides,  and  the  sharp,  whip-like  crack 
resounded  through  and  through  the  woods.  I  know  not  why  it 
is,  but  an  Indian  mortally  wounded  has  a  peculiarly  strange 
way  of  bounding  into  the  air.  Following  the  direction  of  the 
flash,  I  witnessed  a  performance  of  this  nature  on  a  grand 
scale  ;  for  I  saw  three,  in  rapid  succession,  shoot  up  into  the 
air  several  feet,  with  a  smothered  exclamation,  wlj^ch  merged 
with  the  death-rattle;  when  they  fell,  they  were  clods,  and 
clods  only.  But  there  is  an  awfully  spasmodic  stiffness  and 
unnaturalness  about  that  last,  expiring  demonstration,  that 
is  horrible  to  think  of  nights,  when  the  mind  is  cool.  I  have 
seen  them  since  then  leap  up  so  in  my  dreams ;  but  the  leap 
was  terribly  exaggerated,  and  more  likely  a  piece  of  diablerie. 
We  all  fired  and  those  who  were  not  struck  with  balls  were 
panic  struck,  and  for  a  moment  gave  back ;  but  they  rallied 
at  the  voice  of  Burrill,  who  took  good  care  to  keep'  out  of  reach 
of  our  rifles.  The  discharge  of  our  pieces,  and  the  shouts  of 
the  braves,  told  the  others,  who  had  gone  on  the  wrong  scent, 
that  the  game  was  started;  and  they  began  to  gather  round 
us  in  a  manner  that  promised  our  speedy  extermination,  when 
fortunately  we  reached  the  spot  where  the  horses  were  left. 
With  pleasure  I  recognized  Wyandot  and  Camanche.  We 
were  soon  in  the  saddle,  and  moving  forward  at  a  rapid  rate, 
led  on  by  Wickliffe,  who  seemed  well  acquainted  with  the 
country. 

"  I  must  give  'em  another  pill,"  said  Leroy,  and  sat  motion- 
less upon  his  horse,  until  a  painted  face  was  visible. 

"  Them  's  my  feelin's,"  added  Sutler. 


120  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  Them  two  cattle  won't  do  no  more  mischief,"  added  Leroy, 
as  the  two  canre  clattering  after  us,  followed  by  a  scattering 
shower  of  balls. 

We  were  well  mounted,  and  in  a  short  time  the  shouts  and  the 
shots  of  the  Crows,  and  the  stormy  voice  of  Burrill,  died  away  in 
the  distance.  We  left  them  to  their  rage  and  disappointment, 
with  emotions  of  pleasure  which  it  is  impossible  to  describe. 
I  rode  by  the  side  of  Madeleine.  I  heard  occasionally  the 
murmur  of  thanksgiving  that  went  up  from  her  pure  heart. 
She  was  safe,  and  I  was  happy ;  I  had  been  instrumental  in 
her  delivery.  The  morning  dawned  upon  us  like  a  blushing 
young  maiden  awakening  from  her  first  kiss,  in  dreams. 
Soft  winds  bent  the  prairie-grass, 

"  And  ilka  bird  sang  o'  its  luve." 


CHAPTEE   XVIII. 

THE   PILGRIMAGE   RESUMED. 

THE  metal  of  our  gallant  steeds  was  severely  tested  before 
we  halted ;  and  many  miles  of  prairie  lay  between  us  and  the 
scene  of  conflict.  After  some  deliberation,  we  concluded  to 
make  the  best  of  our  way  to  Fort  Laramie,  where  we  could 
rest  for  a  few  days  in  safety.  We  crossed  the  White  Earth, 
and,  making  a  bend  to  the  left,  went  forward  as  fast  as  possible. 
After  four  days'  hard  travelling,  we  reached  the  fort  without 
accident. 

My  journal  of  August  10th  has  the  following  note  : 

"  I  go  forward  like  one  in  a  dream.  I  can  scarcely  believe 
that  these  strange  recollections  can  be  more  than  confused 
fragments  snatched  from  my  sleeping  fancies. 

#  *  #  =K=  # 

"  I  am  near  her  once  more.     Hope  lights  my  soul  with  its 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  121 

warm  sunshine,  and  I  am  looking  expectantly  to  the  future. 
I  have  discovered  a  new  face  in  nature,  and  it  does  nothing 
but  smile.  I  see  it  in  everything,  and  am  never  weary  of 
beholding.  There  is  a  voice,  too,  continually  in  my  ear ;  it 
speaks  words  to  me  I  never  heard  before,  —  tells  of  the  pleasant 
time  to  come.  I  hear  it  in  all  seasons  and  in  all  places.  I 
hear  it  when  the  sun  rises,  when  it  reaches  its  meridian,  and 
when  it  sets.  I  hear  it  at  twilight,  when  the  moon  comes  up, 
and  when  it  goes  down  again.  I  hear  it  by  starlight,  and  at 
midnight,  when  the  lamps  of  night  refuse  their  light.  It 
breathes  the  name  of  Madeleine  ;  and  then  it  has  a  music-tone. 
I  am  wakeful  to  hear  it.  But  when  I  sleep  it  is  not  hushed. 
It  keeps  talking  to  me  in  my  dreams,  and  its  burden  is  still 
love  and  Madeleine. 

"  August  llth.  —  We  are  at  Fort  Laramie  at  last,  and  in 
safety.  We  are  all  weary  with  rapid  travelling.  We  have 
been  very  vigilant  since  our  escape  from  the  Indians.  No 
doubt  but  their  spies  have  dogged  our  steps,  for  Burrill  is  not 
a  man  to  be  baffled.  He  has  a  thousand  desires  to  succeed  now, 
where  he  had  one  before.  We  shall  have  more  trouble  with 
him  and  his  allies.  We  shall  join  some  party  of  rarigrants, 
if  we  can,  in  our  future  journeyings.  There  is  a  long,  long 
way  of  wilderness  before  us. 

"  Wickliffe  is  silent  and  distant.  He  cannot  brook  a  long 
stay  at  Fort  Laramie ;  it  is  too  much  like  going  back  to  the 
world,  and  he  shrinks  from  that.  Our  fair  friends  suffered 
much  during  their  captivity.  They  were  hurried  forward  by 
their  captors  with  but  little  regard  to  their  strength.  Burrill 
kept  with  them  for  a  day  only,  when  he  was  obliged  to  slacken 
his  speed  and  fall  in  the  rear,  on  account  of  a  wound  he  had 
received  from  Basil.  They  felt  it  indeed  a  relief  to  be  rid  of 
his  society,  for  he  had  made  them  wretched  with  his  importu- 
nity. The  conversations  between  them  it  would  be  useless  to 
repeat.  The  captives  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  escape  in 
vain,  for  they  were  rigorously  guarded.  The  adventures  of 
Leroy  and  Silver-Knife  on  the  trail  were  very  much  like  my 
own  with  Wickliffe. 

"  12th.  —  We  are  still  at  Fort  Laramie.  We  see  every 
variety  of  human  nature  here.  French  voyageurs,  Trappers, 
Half-Breeds,  Yankees,  Englishmen,  Mexicans,  Mormon  emi- 
grants, &c.  We  shall  not  go  forward  with  any  of  them. 


122  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

They  are,  as  a  general  tiling,  such  a  drunken,  roistering  set 
of  vagabonds,  that  their  room  is  better  than  their  company. 
It  is  hard  to  know  who  to  trust.  There  is  an  Indian  here 
who,  apparently,  takes  a  great  liking  to  us.  He  has  been  in 
the  habit  of  acting  in  the  capacity  of  hunter  and  guide  to 
parties  of  emigrants.  He  says  he  was  with  Captain  Bonne- 
ville  during  his  expedition  to  the  Columbia  river.  He  repre- 
sents the  captain  as  a  very  brave  and  cautious  man.  He 
talks  also  of  Fre'mont ;  but  whether  he  ever  saw  either  of 
those  persons  is  another  question.  He  calls  himself  a  Kan- 
sas, and  his  name  is  Ossawaun  —  the  Barbed  Arrow.  His 
camp  is  within  gun-shot  of  the  fort.  He  spends  most  of  his 
time  here.  He  says  he  is  going  as  far  as  Henry's  river,  to 
trap  beaver.  For  a  trifling  consideration,  he  is  willing  to  go 
with  us  as  a  hunter.  WicklifFe  does  not  like  him,  nor  has 
he  from  the  first.  He  is  an  able-bodied  savage,  and  seems  to 
possess  all  the  cunning  of  his  race.  Still,  there  is  something 
about  his  eye  that  I  do  not  like.  I  cannot  explain  what  it  is. 
I  dare  say  it  is  nothing  good ;  but  even  a  savage  should  not 
be  judged  by  his  eyes.  He  may  be  a  very  trusty,  worthy 
Indian,  notwithstanding  his  retreating  forehead,  and  the  way 
he  has  of  looking  from  under  his  lids.  I  am  inclined  to 
think  he  will  be  a  valuable  addition  to  our  company.  To- 
day I  spoke  to  the  Leroys  about  turning  their  faces  toward 
St.  Louis,  instead  of  the  Rocky  Mountains.  They  listened 
to  me  respectfully,  but  shook  their  heads. 

"  'What  we  have  undertaken  we  will  perform,'  said  Madge, 
with  a  smile.  '  Let  us  hope  we  have  traversed  the  most  dan- 
gerous part  of  the  way,  and  that  our  future  journeyings  will 
be  attended  with  comparatively  little  peril.  With  such 
strong  hearts  with  us,  what  can  we  fear  ?  Beside,  Heaven 
has  befriended  us  in  such  a  signal  manner  already,  that  we 
seem  bidden  to  trust  again.  Ought  I  not  to  exclaim,  "  I 
have  been  in  six  troubles,  yea,  in  seven,  and  the  Lord  hath 
delivered  me  out  of  them  all  ?  " 

"  'And  you,  Madeleine ;  what  do  you  say  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  I  say,  let  us  go  on.  It  is  as  safe  to  go  forward  as  to  turn 
back.  What  should  we  gain,  then,  by  a  retreat  ?  It  is  true 
we  have  suffered,  and  been  in  deadly  peril,  and  involved  our 
friends ;  but  that  i&  past,  and  who  shall  say  it  will  occur 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  123 

again  ?  My  Horeb  is  yet  beyond  us,  and  the  Jordan  is  half 
passed  already.' 

"  '  What,  still  firm  ?  Can  nothing  discourage  you  ?  You 
should  have  lived  in  the  days  of  chivalry.  Renounce  this 
wild  and  romantic  scheme.  Like  the  recluse  who  spent  his 
meagre  substance  in  a  vain  effort  to  visit  Rome,  look  once 
more  toward  the  high  hills  of  your  Horeb,  and  then  turn  your 
back  upon  it  forever.  As  you  retrace  your  steps,  pray  that 
the  goodness  of  Him  in  wrhom  you  trust  may  cover  and  shield 
you  as  the  cloud  did  the  children  of  Israel.' 

"  '  Not  so,'  replied  Madeleine,  with  a  smile.  '  We  will 
rather  pray  that  the  cloud  and  the  pillar  of  fire  may  go  with 
and  guide  us  to  the  land  of  our  hopes.  Why  should  we  doubt 
the  protecting  care  of  the  Eye  that  never  slumbers  or  sleeps, 
and  the  Hand  that  never  wearies  in  guarding  those  who  trust 
in  Him  ?  But  we  ask  not  others  to  share  our  peril.' 

"  Madeleine's  voice  faltered,  and  for  a  moment  she  was  em- 
barrassed. 

"  '  That  would  be  selfish,'  she  resumed,  '  selfish  to  sinful- 
ness.  But  we  should  grieve  truly  to  part  with  tj^ose  who 
have  gone  with  us  thus  far,  and  dared  death  in  our  defence.' 

"  *  Do  not  fear  !  '  said  Mary,  with  a  mischievous  smile. 

"  Madeleine  blushed. 

"  '  We  shall  be  but  too  happy  to  go  with  you,'  I  stam- 
mered awkwardly  enough,  for  somehow  the  ill-timed  remark 
of  Mary  embarrassed  me  exceedingly. 

"  *  Mary  shall  remain,'  said  her  mother,  playfully. 

"'Then  we  shall  lose  the  company  of  Wickliffe,'  I  ob- 
served. 

"  *  Shame  !  '  cried  Mary,  '  to  retaliate  upon  a  woman  !  ' 

"  *  The  bird  flutters,'  added  Madeleine  ;  *  a  sure  sign  that 
it  has  been  wounded.' 


"  Thus  our  time  passes  on  pleasantly  in  friendly  intercourse." 
During  our  stay  at  the  fort,  Sutler  was  very  amusing.  He 
had  much  to  say  concerning  "  plain  "  and  "  fancy  "  shoot- 
ing, and  kept  his  listeners  in  good  spirits  by  his  singular 
drollery.  Stories  he  related  without  number.  On  one  occa- 
sion, when  the  conversation  had  taken  rather  a  ghostly 
turn,  and  the  subject  of  supernatural  appearances  was  being 


124  SILVER-KNIFE : 

somewhat  sagely  discussed,  and  illustrated  by  citing  examples 
in  point,  he  related  the  following,  with  much  comic  gravity 
and  tact : 

"  Talkin'  of  sperits,  reminds  me  o'  my  own  exper'ence  in 
that  line,"  he  said  gravely,  shaking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe. 

"  Let  us  hear  it,"  I  said. 

"  With  the  greatest  pleasure,  Cap'en.  My  father,  you 
see,  had  been  under  the  turf  a  great  many  years.  He 
was  n't  a  bad  man,  by  no  means  ;  a  kinder  heart  never  beat 
nor  his ;  but  he  was  oncommon  fond  o'  terbacker.  He  'd 
smoke  the  day  out  and  the  day  in.  He  had  n't  an  equal  in 
that  way,  except  old  Sam  Flint,  our  nearest  neighbor,  and 
he  was  jest  about  his  match ;  and  they  used  to  smoke  and 
tell  their  tough  stories,  evenin'  arter  evenin' ;  but  that  was 
afore  my  father  died. 

"  My  nateral  suscepterbilities  being  fine,  I  felt  rayther 
bad  when  the  old  gentleman  stepped  out.  I  used  to  lay 
awake  night  arter  night,  and  think  on  't.  One 'night,  in  the 
fust  o'  the  evenin',  arter  I  had  turned  in,  I  heard  a  strange 
knockin'  on  the  winder-sill,  and  did  n't  know  what  on  airth  to 
to  make  on  't. 

"  '  Who  's  there  ?  '  says  I. 

"  « Your  father,'  says  a  voice. 

"  '  It  can 't  be  posserble ! '  says  I. 

"  '  It's  nothin'  shorter','  says  he. 

"  '  How  do  ye  like  as  fur  as  you  've  got  ? '  says  I. 

"  *  I  'm  not  over  an'  above  pleased,'  says  he. 

*"  '  I  'm  sorry  to  hear  it,'  says  I.      '  What 's  the  trouble  ?  ' 

"'It's  e'enermost  imposserble  to  get  any  good  smokin' 
terbacker,'  says  he,  in  a  derjected  voice. 

"'That's  malanchully,'  says  I.  'Can  I  do  anythin'  for 
ye?' 

" '  Nothin'  to  brag  on,'  says  he ;  '  but  you  '11  obleege  me 
by  layin'  a  good  piece  o'  pigtail  on  the  winder-sill,  nights, 
when  you  go  to  bed.' 

"  '  I  '11  do  it,'  says  I. 

"  '  I'll  feel  obleeged,'  says  Re. 

"  '  Not  at  all,'  says  I ;  '  but,  if  it 's  a  fair  question,  I  'd  like 
to  know  how  you  pass  your  time  up  there  ? ' 

"  It 's  no  offence  at  all,  sonny.  I  set  on  a  sunbeam  most 
o'  the  time,  playin'  on  the  jewsharp.' 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  125 

"  '  It  must  be  very  amusin','  says  I.  '  Have  you  got  the 
old  thing  with  ye  ?  ' 

"  '  I  an't  got  nothin'  else,'  says  he. 

"  '-Play  us  up  a  tune,  then,'  I  continued. 

"  ' With  pleasure,'  says  he ;  and  so  he  struck  up. 

"  '  That's  rayther  malanchully,'  says  I. 

'"I  know  it,'  he  said;  'but  it's  all  on  account  o'  the 
terbacker.' 

"  '  I'll  get  ye  some  o'  the  raal  pigtail,'  says  I. 

"'So  do,  and  I'll  play  ye  somethin'  livelier  next  time. 
Good-night,  sonny,'  he  added,  in  a  more  cheerful  tone. 

"  '  Come  agin,'  says  I. 

"  '  You  may  rely  on 't,'  says  he. 

"  '  Good-night,  then,'  says  I.  '  Don't  hurt  yerself  doin' 
the  miscerlaneous  work,  and  I  'd  recermend  ye  to  bring  a 
better  instrument  when  you  come  agin.'  And  with  that  the 
old  gentleman  hurried  away." 

"  Did  you  place  the  pigtail  on  the  window-sill  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  In  course,  I  did  — the  raal  ginewine." 

"  And  did  he  come  after  it  ?  " 

"As  reg'lar  as  the  night  came.  I  never  knew  him  to  fail, 
and  an  oncommon  sight  o'  the  stuff  he  made  way  with.  If 
all  my  relations  had  come  back,  and  used  as  much  o'  the 
weed  as  he  did,  I  should  ha'  been  dead  broke." 

"And  what  kind  of  tobacco  did  Sam  Flint  smoke  at  that 
time  ?  "  I  continued. 

"Pigtail  —  nothin' but  pigtail,  jest  like  that  used  by  the 
old  gentleman,"  said  Sutler,  with  a  look  irresistibly  comical. 

"  How  was  it  about  your  father's  ghost  ? "  I  said,  one  day, 
to  Sutler,  when  we  were  alone. 

"  The  fact  o'  the  case  was,"  he  replied,  "  I  found  it  took 
off  the  change  like  all  natur  to  keep  my  father  in  terbacker; 
so  I  told  Flint  all  about  it,  and  axed  him  if  he  could  n't  sup- 
ply the  old  man  with  a  plug  or  two  occasionally,  for  old 
acquaintance'  sake. 

'"I  couldn't  think  of  it,'  says  he;  'got  a  large  famerly 
to  support,  and  I  use  an  awful  sprinklin'  o'  the  weed  my- 
self. But  I  've  got  a  pound  or  two  I  '11  sell  ye  cheap.'. 

"  '  What  kind  is  it  ? '  I  asked. 
"  "  «  Pigtail,'  said  he. 

"  '  Bring  it  over,'  says  I. 
11* 


126  SILVER-KNIFE : 

"•'With  pleasure,'  says  he;  and  so  the  next  day  he 
brought  it  over,  and  I  bought  it.  Well,  come  to  look  it 
over,  I  found  some  o'  the  identical  plugs  which  I  had  laid  on 
the  winder-sill  for  the  old  gentleman.  Upon  careful  inquiry 
I  larned  that  he'd  sold  several  pounds  o'  the  stuff  to  the 
neighbors,  and  seemed  to  have  a  plenty  o'  the  same  sort ; 
although,  afore  that,  he  used  to  be  hard  up  on  terbacker,  for 
he  was  poor  as  Job,  and  an  oncommon  smoker.  Arter  that 
time,  I  did  n't  lay  any  more  plugs  on  the  winder-sill,  thinkin' 
it  best  to  let  the  old  gentleman  depend  on  his  own  exartions 
for  a  supply  o'  pigtail." 

"  Many  ghost  stories  would  probably  end  in  the  same  way, 
if  traced  back  to  their  true  origin,  I  doubt  not,"  I  remarked. 

"It's  not  unposserble,  doctor;  but  still,  I'm  a  leetle  in- 
clined to  berlieve  in  sich  things,  arter  all.  There 's  sunthin' 
inside  of  a  man  that  tells  him,  when  a  poor  human  creter  dies, 
that  an't  the  end  on 't ;  and,  if  that  an't  the  end  on 't,  why 
mayn't  the  sperit  o'  that  same  human  cretur  come  back  to  us 
on  extrordinor  occasions?  The  Master  o'  Life  may  marcifully 
permit  the  immortal  principle  to  visit  the  friends  as  it  had 
known  on  airth  while  in  the  nateral  body.  I  say  that  it 
don't  seem  to  me  that  there  is  nothin'  onreasonable  in  the 
idee.  It's  true  I'm  allers  tellin'  tough  stories,  and  blunderin' 
into  some  kind  o'  nonsense ;  but,  as  I  'm  a  livin'  man,  I 
wouldn't  deliberately  and  willin'ly  make  light  o'  sich  sub- 
jecks,  for  no  consideration  whatsomever." 

One  evening  Leroy  and  some  trappers  were  talking  of 
horses,  and  the  condition  to  which  they  were  sometimes  re- 
duced by  hardship  and  hunger,  when  he  told  a  story  in  the 
following  unique  style : 

"  That  reminds  me  of  a  carcumstance,"  said  Sutler.  "  It 
was  my  misfortin'  once  to  be  the  owner  of  a  very  venerable 
horse.  I  never  larnt  his  age  exactly ;  but  it  was  sunthin' 
short  of  a  century.  The  cretur  hadn't  no  teeth,  and  the 
oldest  trappers  did  n't  remember  when  he  lost  'em.  For  the 
last  few  years  he  had  subsisted  on  cracked  corn,  soaked  and 
biled  to  his  compacity  o'  munchin',  and  the  delercate  state  of 
his  digestive  functions.  As  for  grass,  he'd  forgot  what  'twas 
made  for,  and  contented  himself  with  layin'  on 't  without  any 
ruminisances  of  other  days.  He  'd  been  blind  for  the  last  ten 
years,  when  his  former  perprierter  hired  me  to  take  him  out 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  .       127 

o'  the  country.  Findin'  his  eyes  wan't  of  no  sarvice  to  him, 
the  interlecteral  creter  shut  'em  up  to  keep  the  dust  out,  and 
never  pertended  to  open  'em,  which  give  a  malanchully  ex- 
pression to  his  countenance,  and  on  the  whole  rayther  injured 
his  parsonal  appearance.  He  was  oncommon  poor,  was  that 
hoss ;  the  back-bone  had  worn  through  the  nateral  skin,  and 
I  used  to  hang  my  powder-horn  and  ball-pouch  on  the  spuri- 
ous prostitooters  (spinous  processes)  when  I  went  on  the  war- 
path, as  the  ryptiles  say,  and  the  effect  was  highly  picteresk. 
The  hip  and  shoulder  bones  were  in  the  same  unpertected 
and  unsheltered  condition,  and  he  never  pertended  to  take  'em 
in  when  it  rained ;  the  marrer  was  stole  out  of  'em  a-  few 
days  afore  I  consented  to  take  him,  by  a  half-starved  root- 
digger  ;  but  they  were  kind  o'  convenient-like,  because  I 
used  to  lay  my  rifle  across  'em,  and  there  was  n't  no  danger 
of  its  fallin'  off:  for  Snorter  —  that  was  his  name  —  was  a 
proper  easy-goin'  cretur,  and  never  rared  up  for'ards,  or 
kicked  up  behind.  He  was  an  exemperlary  beast,  and  wan't 
afeared  o'  nothin'  under  the  canerpy  o'  heaven.  He  wouldn't 
turn  out  for  nothin',  on  any  consideration  whatsomever ;  and 
I  don't  exaggerate,  nor  get  out  from  under  the  redeemin'  in- 
flerence,  when  I  say  that  I  've  known  that  cretur  to  run  agin 
five  pine  trees,  four  sycamores,  two  bears,  and  a  catamount, 
one  buffaler,  and  ten  rocky  mountains,  in  succession,  without 
gettin'  discouraged  or  malanchully  in  the  least.  When  I 
used  to  contemplate  the  subject  philerosophically  and  discom- 
passionately,  I  used  to  e'enermost  believe  in  the  parseverance 
o'  the  saints.  My  tout  ensemble,  as  the  French  say,  when 
mounted  and  ready  for  a  start,  was  orgust  and  imposin'  in 
the  extreme,  when  looked  at  in  that  pint  o'  view.  Well,  to 
make  a  long  story  short,  and  do  justice  to  the  manerfold  vir- 
tooes  of  Snorter,  —  I  was  journeyin'  through  the  country  of 
the  Bannecks,  intending  to  make  a  brilliant  descent  upon  the 
bloody  Blackfeet.  All  of  a  sudden,  I  heerd  a  terrible  clamor, 
and  thought  I  was  surrounded  by  the  inemy.  I  instantly 
turned  round  toward  the  anermaPs.tall ;  for  it  was  easier  to 
do  that  than  to  turn  Snorter,  he  was  so  mild  like,  and  moder- 
ate, in  his  nateral  dispersition.  Without  losing  my  presence 
o'  mind  for  a  minit,  I  begun  sharp'nin'  my  knife  on  the  hip- 
bones, when  the  danger  seemed  to  threaten  me  right  over 
head.  Upon  lookin.'  up  into  the  air,  the  whole  canerpy  was 


128  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

swarmin'  with  crows,  yellin'  like  all  possest.  I  had  a  terrible 
persentiment  o'  danger  as  soon  as  my  visable  orgins  fell  on 
the  feathered  ryptiles.  For  a  short  time  or  longer  the  cawin' 
was  parfectly  tremendous  and  astoundin'.  I  gin  Snorter  the 
rein,  and,  for  the  first  time,  turned  my  back  upon  the  inemy. 
For  six  days  and  nights,  without  stoppin'  to  eat  water,  or 
drink  meat,  for  man  or  hoss,  I  pressed  forrard,  boyed  up  by 
the  vain  hope  of  escape.  But  it  wan't  of  no  avail ;  it  was 
caw !  caw !  the  whole  contineral  time ;  no  sleep  to  my  eye- 
lids, or  rest  to  my  eyes.  I  was  forced  to  give  in,  and  leave 
Snorter  to  his  fate.  I  jumped  down  from  my  gallant  war- 
horse,  leavin'  all  my  things  hung  on  to  his  framework.  In 
half  an  hour  there  wan't  nothing  left  of  him  but  his  timbers. 
When  the  crows  had  gone,  with  a  sad  heart,  I  went  and 
picked  out  my  powder-horn,  shot-bag,  rifle,  &c.,  from  among 
the  venerable  remains." 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

AGAIN    ON   THE   TRAIL. 

ON  the  14th  of  August  we  recommenced  our  wanderings. 
We  succeeded  in  purchasing  a  couple  of  mules,  and  such 
supplies  as  we  needed.  All  things  considered,  our  outfit  was 
not  a  bad  one.  The  Kansas  Indian  set  out  with  us.  All 
rejoiced  at  this  accession  to  our  numbers,  save  Wickliffe. 
On  the  20th  of  the  month,  after  six  days'  hard  travelling, 
we  encamped  at  the  Red  Buttes.  The  Black  Hills  still 
towered  away  at  our  right,  their  distant  tops  piercing  the 
clouds,  while  the  Wind  River  chain  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains hemmed  us  in  like  an  immense  wall.  These  mountains 
are  very  lofty,  and  perpetually  capped  with  snow.  Many 
rivers  take  their  rise  among  those  impenetrable  fastnesses, 
flowing,  some  to  the  Atlantic,  and  others  to  the  Pacific. 
There  is  something  wild  and  striking  in  the  idea  that  streams, 
having  their  birth  in  the  bosom  of  those  rugged  elevations, 
should  travel  away  in  different  directions,  to  mingle  with  the 
far-distant  wave  at  last,  having  accomplished  their  mighty 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  129 

pilgrimage ;  which  may  aptly  be  compared  to  the  journey  of 
life.  The  travelling  for  the  last  few  days  had  been  growing 
more  difficult.  There  were  hills  to  toil  over,  brooks  and 
ravines  to  cross,  which  required  all  our  patience  and  power 
of  endurance.  Our  position  was  now  one  of  considerable 
interest.  We  were  in  the  most  dangerous  part  of  the  wilder- 
ness, the  country  most  infested  by  the  terrible  Blackfeet. 
The  mighty  mountains  that  walled  us  in  afforded  them  tem- 
porary homes,  while  they  surprised  small  war-parties  of  other 
tribes,  bands  of  emigrants,  or  the  white  trapper.  They  burst 
from  their  fastnesses  in  hours  unexpected ;  and  woe  to  those 
surprised,  for  no  mercy  can  be  expected.  None  but  expe- 
rienced mountaineers  may  outwit  or  cope  with  them  in 
fight.  Even  the  shrewd  Bonneville,  and  the  indefatigable 
Fremont,  came  off  second  best  when  they  measured  their 
cunning  with  those  lords  of  the  wilderness.  Ossawaun  was 
diligent  in  pointing  out  the  different  spots  we  passed  where 
bloody  forays  had  taken  place  between  the  red  man  and  the 
white.  His  eyes  lighted  up  and  glowed  like  coals  when  he 
talked  of  battle.  It  struck  me  that  he  had  an  unnatural  ap- 
petite for  carnage.  His  name  was  certainly  more  romantic 
than  his  character. 

"August  21st.  —  I  have  formed  such  a  habit  of  journaliz- 
ing that  I  cannot  very  well  forego  an  opportunity  of  jotting 
down  my  impressions.  We  feel  the  need  of  rest.  The  vigi- 
lance of  Wickliffe  and  Leroy  increases  at  every  step.  Our 
horses  are  picketed  every  night,  and  we  stand  guard  by 
turns.  When  it  is  practicable,  we  throw  up  a  slight  fortifi- 
cation, by  the  aid  of  such  trees  as  are  convenient.  We  have 
had  several  alarms  in  the  night ;  but  have  been  so  well  pre- 
pared that  no  attack  has  been  made,  if  intended.  I  shall  be 
heartily  glad  when  we  get  away  from  this  dangerous  vicinity. 
I  am  feverishly  anxious  for  ,the  safety  of  those  with  us.  I 
cannot  forget  Burrill ;  it  seems  to  me  that  he  is  near. 

"Wickliffe  and  the  'Barbed  Arrow'  get  along  rather 
poorly  together.  He  has  offered  to  stand  guard  with  us ; 
but  the  former  won't  allow  it.  He  prefers,  he  says,  to  take 
his  place,  rather  than  trust  him.  Silver-Knife  and  the  sav- 
age, apparently,  are  on  good  terms;  but  one  thing  I  have 
observed  —  he  never  allows  the  strange  Indian  out  of  his 
eight.  We  left  our  wagon  that  we  procured  at  Fort  Laramie, 


130  SILVER-KNIFE : 

two  days  ago ;  it  retarded  our  movements.  We  packed  what 
we  could  upon  the  two  mules,  and  now  go  on  much  faster. 
^  ^  ^  I  have  not  yet  spoken  of  love  to  Madeleine.  I 
have  resolved  to  declare  myself  a  hundred  times,  and  my 
courage  has  failed  as  often.  I  have  staked  so  much  upon  the 
r.esult  that  I  dread  to  have  the  question  decided ;  and  yet 
I  am  convinced  she  is  not  entirely  indifferent  to  me.  I 
recall  all  her  words  on  the  night  of  her  escape,  and  cherish 
them  in  my  memory  like  things  precious.  Thus  is  my  mind 
a  storehouse  for  the  past.  Ossawaun  is  now  relating  to  Sut- 
ler the  history  of  a  fight  at  a  place  called  Pierre's  Hole.  It 
is  probably  the  same  mentioned  by  Bonneville,  where  several 
lives  were  lost.  Our  Indian  affirms  that  he  was  there,  but 
whether  in  a  friendly  way  he  saith  not.  Yesterday  Sutler 
shot  a  buffalo.  It  was  rather  imprudent  in  him  to  do  so, 
for  the  report  of  his  rifle  might  have  reached  some  lurking 
enemy. 

"  23d.  —  Another  day's  journey  nearer  the  place  of  our  des- 
tination. The  scenery  is  wild  and  imposing.  There  is  noth- 
ing tame  here.  Nature  shows  her  works  on  a  grand  scale. 
The  mountains  are  higher,  the  valleys  deeper,  than  in  other 
countries.  We  have  seen  several  antelopes  to-day.  The 
Indian  with  the  chivalrous  name  was  intent  on  shooting  one, 
but  Wickliffe  sternly  forbade  him.  The  fellow  obeyed  sul- 
lenly enough.  A  short  time  after,  he  began  to  chant  a  wild 
song,  whose  wilder  echoes-  went  reverberating  among  the 
mountains.  Wickliffe  rode  up  to  him,  and  in  a  commanding 
voice  warned  him  not  to  repeat  it  again,  on  his  peril.  He 
complied  with  a  bad  grace,  and  a  sinister  leer  of  the  eye.  I 
am  persuaded  there  is  mischief  in  that  savage.  The  restraint 
under  which  he  finds  himself  makes  him  terribly  uneasy.  He 
often  looks  anxiously  to  the  mountains.  Does  he  expect  any- 
thing from  that  quarter  ?  I  must  watch  him.  He  has  just 
been  telling  Sutler  another  of  his  abominable  stories.  To 
me  it  had  an  ominous  sound,  which  cast  a  gloom  over  my 
spirits.  The  tale  was  as  follows,  varied  in  style  a  little,  of 
course  ;  for  I  cannot  embellish  it  with  all  his  Indianisms. 

" '  A  great  many  moons  ago,'  said  he,  '  a  band  of  pale- 
faces came  here  to  trap.  There  were  five  in  all.  Most  of 
them  were  young  men.  They  knew  little  about  the  country, 
and  some  of  them  were  never  in  the  mountains  before.  The 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  18] 

Blackfeet  soon  put  their  eyes  on  them.  They  said  in  their 
hearts,  "  These  men  are  squaws ;  they  cannot  fight.  We  will 
destroy  them,  and  take  away  their  horses  and  traps."  Others, 
more  prudent,  said,  "  They  have  rifles  in  their  hands,  and 
they  will  fight  if  we  attack  them  openly ;  therefore  let  us 
take  them  by  stratagem.  Let  one  of  our  braves  join  them, 
and  .  offer  to  guide  them  to  the  hunting-grounds.  They  will 
embrace  the  offer,  for  the  brave  shall  tell  them  he  knows 
where  the  gaftie  abounds.  But,  instead  of  leading  the  pale- 
faces to  the  hunting-grounds  to  trap  the  beaver,  he  shall  lead 
them  astray,  and  we  will  fall  upon  them  in  the  night,  and 
thus  gain  an  easy  victory." 

"  '  The  warriors  said  this  counsel  was  good.  A  young 
brave  volunteered  to  go  and  beguile  them  into  ambush.  He 
did  so  in  such  a  skilful  manner  that  all  the  white  trappers 
perished  but  one.' 

"  '  And  what  became  of  the  brave  ? '  asked  Sutler. 

" '  One  of  the  trappers  shot  him  through  the  head,'  re- 
plied Ossawaun. 

"  '  That 's  true,'  replied  Sutler,  '  and  I  was  the  man  as 
destroyed  the  treacherous  varmint's  fakilties.' 

"  '  You ! '  exclaimed  the  Barbed  Arrow,  with  a  start. 

"  '  Yes,  I,  Redskin ;  you  may  put  that  down  as  sartin.  1 
sent  a  good  half-ounce  of  lead  clean  through  his  brain,  and 
the  critter  didn't  know  what  hurt  him.' 

"  *  Sarved  Jiim  right,'  said  Leroy.  '  There  an't  no  sin  like 
treachery.' 

"'Them's  my  feelin's,'  rejoined  Sutler;  'and  I'll  jest 
take  this  opportunity  to  remark  to  this  painted  critter,  as  a 
kind  o'  hint,  that  may  or  mayn't  be  taken  at  his  lasure,  or 
otherwise,  that  if  he  's  any  sich  notions,  he  'd  better'  be  get- 
tin'  ready  to  leave  all  sublunar  things.' 

"  Ossawaun  made  no  reply,  but  affected  to  take  it  as  a 
joke  too  trifling  to  honor  with  his  attention.  *  *  ^ 
The  Indians  have  done  well  to  people  this  wild  country  with 
beings  supernatural.  Where  could  demons  discover  a  better 
home  than  in  those  towering  mountains  at  our  right.  They 
must  find  their  snowy  sides  a  great  luxury,  as  they  come 
seething  hot  from  their  usual  quarters.  The  low  muttered 
thunders,  the  intestine  fires,  and  the  reverberating  echoes, 
are  ascribed  to  Machinito —  the  Bad  Spirit." 


132  '    SILVER-KNIFE  : 

On  the  24th  we  encamped  near  the  Sweet  Water  river. 
Two  or  three  Indians  had  been  seen  during  the  day,  which 
fact  warned  us  to  unusual  watchfulness.  There  was  but 
little  sleep  that  night ;  such  a  feeling  of  peril  was  with  us 
that  it  was  impossible.  Wickliffe  stretched  himself  near 
Ossawaun,  while  Sutler  and  Leroy  kept  unceasing  vigils. 
As  for  Silver-Knife,  he  left  us,  and  laid  himself  down  in  a 
thicket  at  the  distance  of  two  or  three  rods. 

"  When  that  Injin  cretur  does  that,  you  may  depend  on  't 
there  's  danger  not  a  great  way  off;  and  he  '11  be  the  first  to 
know  about  it,"  said  Baptiste. 

"  Them 's  my  feelin's,"  replied  Sutler.  "  When  that  crit- 
ter loses  his  fakilties,  there  '11  be  one  honest  Injin  the  less.  I 
hope  he  '11  hang  on  to  sublunar  things  for  years  to  come 
But  this  Barbed  Arrer,  as  he  calls  himself,  in  my  humble 
opinion,  an't  to  be  depended  on." 

"  It 's  hard  tellin',"  answered  Leroy.  "  As  the  people 
used  to  say  where  I 's  raised,  you  can't  tell  a  chap  allers  by 
the  cut  of  his  coat." 

"No  more  you  can't,  old  boy;  but  this  onconvarted  crit- 
ter has  n't  a  coat  to  his  back ;  and  I  don't  b'lieve  he  ever 
owned  sich  a  thing  as  an  honest  Injin's  blanket." 

"If  I  thought  he  warn't  jest  the  thing,  and  was  comin'  the 
'possum  over  us  with  his  non'sns',  I  'd  finish  the  low-born 
cretur  in  jest  no  time  at  all,  and  prehaps  quicker,"  said 
Leroy. 

Here  the  parties  moved  away,  and  I  heard  no  more  of 
the  conversation.  In  the  course  of  an  hour  all  was  still. 
Sutler  and  Leroy,  wrapped  in  their  blankets,  were  seated 
upon  the  ground  outside  the  camp.  Both  Wickliffe  and 
Ossawaun  gave  the  long,  regular  respirations  of  sleep.  I  lay 
with  my  eyes  partially  closed,  and  restless  enough  to  be 
walking  about,  instead  of  trying  to  slumber. 

I  saw  Ossawaun  open  his  eyes,  and  peer  hastily  about  the 
camp.  *  He  closed  them  again,  and  in  a  few  minutes  repeated 
the  operation.  Having  satisfied  himself,  apparently,  that  we 
were  sleeping  soundly,  he  cautiously  arose  to  a  sitting  pos- 
ture. I  glanced  at  Wickliffe.  To  my  great  satisfaction,  he 
opened  his  eyes,  gave  me  a  significant  look,  and  shut  them 
again.  Ossawaun  rose  to  his  feet.  For  an  instant  he  stood 
over  Wickliffe,  regarding  him  with  a  scowl  of  mortal  hatred. 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  133 

Once  his  fingers  strayed  to  the  handle  of  his  hunting-knife, 
and  I  should  have  interfered  had  I  not  been  conscious  that 
Wickliffe  was  on  his  guard.  The  Indian  then  walked  noise- 
lessly from  camp. 

"  Truly,"  thought  I,  "  he  won't  allow  the  fellow  to  leave 
us  thus."  But  he  did,  and  the  Barbed  Arrow  walked  away 
unchallenged. 

"  Are  you  awake  ?  "  I  whispered  to  Wickliffe. 

"  Perfectly,"  he  replied. 

"  Why,  then,  do  you  allow  him  to  go  ?  " 

"  It  is  all  arranged  —  Silver-Knife  will  attend  to  him ; 
we  shall  hear  a  good  account  of  him  before  morning." 

"  That  alters  the  case ;  but  ought  we  not  to  be  on  the 
alert  ?  His  object  cannot  be  a  good  one,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  have  always  doubted  him,  but  did  not  wish  to  condemn 
without  some  proof  his  perfidy.  It  is  my  opinion  that  we 
shall  know  within  an  hour  whether  he  is  a  true  man  or  a 
traitor.  But  we  will  leave  it  all  with  the  chief.  If  there  is 
danger,  we  shall  be  warned  in  time.  Nothing  escapes  his 
practised  eye.  A  hound  never  followed  fox  as  closely  as  he 
wi)l  dog  the  footsteps  of  that  savage  who  has  just  left  us." 

We  arose,  and  went  into  the  open  air.  Sutler  and  Leroy 
were  sitting  motionless  near  the  camp. 

"  Did  you  see  him  ?  "  asked  Wicklifle. 

"In  course,"  replied  Leroy.  "Them  an't  the  kind  o' 
varmints  that  catch  us  sleeping." 

"  Which  way  did  he  go  ?  " 

"  Away  in  that  direction,"  added  the  guide.  "  But  there's 
a  cretur  arter  him  that  don't  waste  his  strength  for  nothin'. 
I  would  n't  be  in  that  heathen's  shoes  for  the  foest  hoss  on 
the  prairies." 

"Them's  my  feelin's,"  said  the  trapper.  "  I 've  seen  a 
host  o'  copper-skins  in  my  day  and  gineration,  but  I  an't 
seen  none  equal  to  that  tame  Injin  o'  yourn.  He  even  goes 
so  far  as  to  look  like  a  human  critter  in  the  face ;  and  he  acts 
like  one,  too,  or  I  'm  no  judge  o'  the  nateral  disposition." 

In  a  state  of  painful  uncertainty,  we  waited  the  return  of 
Silver-Knife.  In  about  an  hour  he  made  his  appearance. 

"  No  danger  to-night,"  said  he.  "  Lay  down  and  sleep  in 
peace.  Ossawaun  will  return.  He  has  had  a  talk  with  a 
war-party  of  Crows.  To-night  you  can  rest,  but  to-morrow 
12 


134  SILVER-KNIFE: 

night  let  the  pale-faces  beware.     The  snake  in  the  grass  is 
near.     He  crawls  upon  the  earth —  his  sting  is  deadly." 

We  obeyed  the  instructions  of  the  chief,  and  in  a  short 
time  were  in  as  deep  a  sleep,  seemingly,  as  when  the  traitor 
Indian  left  us.  In  about  twenty  minutes  after  the  return  of 
Silver-Knife,  he  stole  into  camp  as  silently  as  he  went  away. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

OSSAWAUN. 

A  CHEERLESS  morning  dawned  upon  us ;  clouds  shut  out 
the  sun,  and  the  rain  was  falling.  The  sterile  and  rugged 
country  about  us  looked  doubly  sterile  and  rugged.  The 
mountains,  as  they  lifted  up  their  heads  through  the  mist,  to 
hide  them  in  clouds,  were  grim  and  terrible.  The  rocky 
bluffs,  the  deep  ravines,  which  resembled  ghastly  wounds  in 
nature,  took  on  a  solemn  aspect.  Sullen  sounds  were  borne 
upon  the  air,  and  not  a  lone  bird  struck  a  note  of  song. 

As  contrary  as  it  was  to  our  inclinations,  we  were  obliged 
to  stay  where  we  were  until  after  it  had  cleared. 

"  Journal  of  the  24th.  —  I  have  not  spoken  to  Madeleine 
of  the  new  danger  which  menaces  us.  I  .have  not  whispered 
the  name  of  Burrill  in  her  ear ;  but  she  knows  that  he  is 
hovering  about  us.  How  she  knows,  I  cannot  tell;  but  I 
suppose  her  intuitions  tell  her.  The  soul  of  a  pure  woman 
is  like  the  mercury  in  a  thermometer,  and  sinks  or  rises  as 
good  or  evil  approaches ;  or  like  a  mirror,  that  reflects  what- 
ever is  near,  it  catches  shadows  of  the  future. 

"  This  dark,  dismal  day  casts  a  gloom  upon  all  hearts.  I 
believe  we  human  beings  gather  our  best  thoughts  from  sun- 
shine. A  year  of  storm  and  rain  would  convert  us  all 
into  misanthropes  and  scoundrels,  unquestionably.  Soft, 
mellow  moonlight,  and  clear,  warm  sunlight,  make  the 
heart  light,  and  purify  it  from  evil ;  but  Darkness  and  tem- 
pests are  stimulants  to  crime. 

"  I  cannot  help  thinking  and  asking,  where  we  shall  be 


AN    AUTOBIOGHAPI1Y.  135 

to-morrow.  Poor  Mary  looks  pale  and  anxious ;  but  her 
face  has  a  deeper  flush  when  Wickliffe  is  near.  In  his  pres- 
ence she  appears  to  forget  danger,  and  looks  reassured  and 
strong. 

"But  has  Tie  changed  ?  Is  he  less  lofty,  and  more  human  ? 
He  has  changed,  but  only  to  rise  higher,  and  put  a  greater 
"  distance  between  us.  Not  that  he  is  haughty,  or  proud ;  but 
his  noble  qualities  shine  out  more  conspicuously.  He  con- 
verses but  little.  When  he  speaks,  Mary  trembles,  and 
listens  with  feverish  eagerness.  His  voice  is  not  fawning 
when  he  addresses  her;  it  is  deep,  musical,  and  gentle  withal, 
and  such  a  kind  of  gentleness  I  cannot  describe.  He  never 
laughs  aloud,  seldom  smiles ;  and  when  he  does,  it  is  in  the 
face  of  danger,  or  when  he  catches  a  glance  from  the  restless 
eye  of  Madeleine;  for  he  never  smiles  when  he  looks  at 
Mary,  but  has  a  more  serious  expression,  as  though  he  pitied 
her.  I  am  glad  he  is  not  given  to  much  laughter,  for  it  is 
degrading,  and  detracts  from  the  dignity  of  a  human  being, 
and  is  at  best  but  the  empty  echo  of  a  shallow  mind.  But 
smiles  are  sunlight,  especially  on  the  lip  of  woman." 

At  noon  a  gentle  wind  swept  away  the  clouds  and  the 
rain.  The  sunshine  gladdened  the  mountains  and  valleys, 
and  smoothed  the  frowns  from  the  sturdy  face  of  nature. 

With  lighter  hearts  we  commenced  our  march.  Ossawaun 
was  with  us,  and  appeared  as  usual.  Wickliffe  rode  up  to 
him,  asking,  carelessly, 

"What  think  you  is  our  best  route  now  ?  " 

For  a  moment  the  k,een  eye  of  Barbed  Arrow  was  fastened 
upon  the  face  of  the  questioner ;  but  there  was  no  change  in 
that  face ;  all  the  savages  on  the  prairies,  or  amid  the  moun- 
tains, might  look  upon  it  without  reading  a  line  of  what  was 
passing  in  the  heart  that  beat  so  tranquilly  beneath.  The 
hard,  keen  look  of  Ossawaun  melted  away,  and  a  lurking, 
satisfied  smile  curled  his  red  lip. 

"  If  my  red  brothers  would  find  the  way  smooth,  and  the 
travelling  easy,  they  must  keep  away  in  that  direction," 
he  replied,  pointing  with  his  brawny  hand  more  to  the  north- 
west than  we  had  been  going. 

" Yes,  I  recollect  —  you  spoke  of  that  route  yesterday; 
some  trappers,  you  said,  were  led  astray  and  killed  there  by 


136  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

the  Blackfeet,"  rejoined  Wickliffe,  stroking  his  horse's  mane 
with  his  riding-whip. 

Again  the  piercing  eyes  of  Ossawaun  crept  over  the  feat- 
ures of  his  companion  like  writhing  serpents,  and  again  they 
were  baffled,  and  the  mocking  smile  returned. 

"  The  same,  brother ;  but  the  Blackfeet  are  gone.  No 
birds  of  prey  are  near,  and  our  hearts  are  big." 

"^Very  true.  We  have  big  hearts,  and  our  rifles  are  sure. 
But  this  morning  I  heard  the  prairie-wolf." 

"  And  what  said  the  prairie-wolf?  "  resumed  the  Indian. 

"He  told  me  to  sing  my  death-song,  for  my  end  was 
near." 

"Great  medicine  is  the  prairie-wolf,"  added  Ossawaun, 
unmoved. 

"  He  seemed  to  say,  *  Go  back,  white  man ;  this  country 
was  not  made  for  you ;  it  was  made  for  the  Indian ;  you 
cannot  dwell  here.  The  red  men  are  cunning  —  they  will 
outwit  you.  Turn  back,  or  die.'  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  I 
wonder  how  long  before  I  shall  die ; '  and  the  wolf  howled 
again,  and  I  thought  he  said,  « Before  many  suns,  if  you  do 
not  go  back ;  but,  if  you  go  back  to  your  own  country,  you 
shall  live.'  Then  I  said  to  myself,  '  The  prairie-wolf  lies, 
and  I  will  not  go  to  my  own  country.' " 

"  My  white  brother  hears  much,"  said  Ossawaun,  coolly. 

"  That  is  because  his  ears  are  open.  Fools  shut  their  eyes 
and  their  ears,  and  know  nothing." 

"  The  prairie-wolf  speaks  the  truth  to  the  Indian,  but  lies 
when  he  speaks  to  the  white  man,"  replied  the  wily  savage. 

"  I  had  a  dream,  too,"  added  Wickliffe. 

"  What  did  my  brother  dream  ?  " 

"I  dreamed  I  journeyed  through  a  strange  country — a 
country  of  deep  gulleys  and  big  hills,  like  this,  where  great 
rivers  are  born.  I  thought  the  way  behind  me  was  smooth, 
and  I  could  travel  in  that  direction  without  weariness ;  but 
the  country  before  me  was  rough  and  threatening,  and  the 
bad  Machinito  piled  hills  and  mountains  and  vast  rocks  in 
my  path  to  hinder  me,  so,  that  I  should  never  get  to  the  end 
of  my  journey.  I  kept  toiling  on ;  but,  when  I  had  conquered 
one  obstacle,  another  was  thrown  in  my  way.  This  was  not 
all.  I  saw  Indians  with  war-paint  on  their  faces,  who  men- 
aced me  with  their  bows  and  arrows  and  guns.  All  at  once 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  137 

a  tall  warrior  stood  at  my  side,  and  offered  to  conduct  rue  on 
my  way  in  safety ;  then  I  heard  a  voice  in  my  ear  which 
said,  '  Do  not  trust  him ;  he  is  the  child  of  the  Bad  Spirit.'  " 

"  A  great  dreamer  is  my  brother,"  said  Ossawaun,  steal- 
ing a  sidelong  glance  at  Wickliffe. 

"  I  did  not  heed  the  warning  voice,  but  followed  the  war- 
rior in  silence.  The  big  hills  faded  away,  and  we  walked 
over  a  level  plain.  Very  soon  we  met  a  man  journeying  in 
the  opposite  direction.  He  asked  me  where  I  was  going.  I 
answered,  '  To  the  distant  mountains.'  But  he  replied,  '  You 
are  going  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds.'  Then  I  asked  my 
guide  if  it  was  so ;  but  he  would  not  answer.  When  we  had 
gone  on  in  this  way  for  several  days,  we  reached  a  pleasant 
valley,  very  much  like  this.  As  soon  as  we  had  entered  it, 
the  hills  suddenly  arose  about  us  to  a  great  height,  and 
hemmed  us  in.  A  great  number  of  savages  surrounded  rne, 
danced  the  war-dance,  and  shook  their  hatchets  at  me.  The 
guide  turned  and  looked  me  in  the  eyes,  and  he  had  your 
face.  He  said  to  me,  '  You  shall  go  no  further.  You  shall 
die,  and  for  that  purpose  have  I  conducted  you  hither.' " 

"  What  did  my  white  brother  do  then  ?  " 

"  I  awoke,  bathed  in  perspiration,  and  full  of  horror. 
Presently  I  slept  again." 

"Very  strange!  Great  medicine  is  my  brother.  What 
did  you  dream  then  ?  " 

"  That  the  good  Monedo  appeared  to  me  in  the  form  of  a 
warrior,  and  held  a  cord  in  his  hand  like  this,  and  bade  me 
bind  you  so  that  you  could  not  run  away,"  and  Wickliffe 
drew  a  cord  from  beneath  his  hunting-shirt,  and  held  it  up. 

Ossawaun  started  when  he  saw  it,  and  looked  uneasy. 

"  And  the  form  told  me,  if  you  resisted,  to  shoot  you 
through  the  head." 

The  traitor  Indian  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  the 
rapidity  of  lightning ;  then,  with  a  wild  cry,  which  appeared 
perfectly  intelligible  to  his  horse,  dashed  down  the  steep, 
rocky  side  of  a  ravine  on  our  left. 

Wickliffe  urged  his  horse  after  him  with  an  energy  equal 
to  the  occasion,  and  in  an  incredibly  short  space  of  tune  we 
heard  the  clatter  of  hoofs  far  below,  and  saw  sparks  of  fire 
driven  from  the  jagged  rocks. 

"  That  heathen  cretur  an't  no  better  nor  dead,"  said  Leroy. 
12* 


138  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  I  'd  sooner  have  the  Royal  Bengal  tiger  arter  me  nor  that 
onaccountable  chap.  There  's  somethin'  awful  in  his  eye  when 
he  's  excited  ;  and  a  body  feels  jest  as  if  he  'd  oughter  to  go 
anywhere  he  says,  if  it's  to  the  devil." 

At  that  moment  the  report  of  a  pistol  was  heard. 

"  That  powder  wan't  burnt  for  nothin',  I  reckon,"  said  Sut- 
ler. "  It 's  my  conviction  that  the  Barbed  Arrer,  as  he  pre- 
tends to  call  himself,  has  lost  his  fakilties." 

I  dashed  off  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  as  fast  as  Wyan- 
dot  would  carry  me,  followed  by  the  rest  of  the  party  at  a 
slower  pace.  With  some  difficulty  I  descended  into  the 
ravine,  crossed  a  brook,  and,  after  galloping  about  three  hun- 
dred yards,  through  bush  and  brier,  came  suddenly  upon  the 
object  of  my  search.  He  was  holding  his  horse  by  the  bridle. 
Near  him  stood  the  animal  ridden  by  the  Barbed  Arrow,  but 
the  saddle  was  empty.  The  unfortunate  being  that  had  filled 
it  lay  writhing  on  the  ground.  I  glanced  at  Wickliffe  ;  but 
there  was  nothing  terrible  in  his  expression.  The  dark  frown 
I  had  last  seen  upon  his  face  had  faded  away.  No  sparks 
of  anger  flashed  from  beneath  the  dark  lids,  and  the  firm  lip 
had  nothing  of  defiance.  The  man  who  stood  there  and  held 
the  bridle-rein,  and  gazed  upon  the  dying  Indian,  was  Wick- 
liffe still ;  but  more  thoughtful,  and  more  elevated  above  the 
level  of  common  men.  There  was  no  touch  of  human  weak- 
ness in  his  visage.  He  stood  and  contemplated  the  wretch  at 
his  feet  as  a  great  surgeon  might  look  at  his  handy  and  neces- 
sary work,  regardless  of  the  pain.  He  did  not  heed  my 
approach,  but  kept  on  with  his  study,  for  study  he  evidently 
made  it.  The  rest  of  the  party  came  up,  and  we  stood 
silently  about  the  dying  savage.  He  was  shot  through  the 
lungs.  I  knew  it  by  the  light,  frothy  blood  that  came  bub- 
bling from  his  dark  bosom  and  trickled  over  his  robe  of  skins 
—  the  robe  that  was  to  serve  him  no  more.  By  a  strong  effort, 
which  taxed  his  remaining  powers  to  the  utmost,  he  raised 
himself  to  a  sitting  position,  and  smoothed  the  knotted  fur- 
rows from  his  damp  brow.  That  decided  and  desperate 
movement  told  that  he  meant  to  die  like  an  Indian  and  a 
warrior.  With  a  slow  and  wandering  hand,  he  clutched  the 
stained  robe,  and  pressed  it  to  his  streaming  breast.  That 
was  to  hoard  his  life  a  little  longer.  He_  called  back  his 


AN   AUTOBIOGKAPHY.  139 

scattered  senses,  and  his  glassy  eye  fired  up  as  he  glanced 
around  upon  those  present.  His  gaze  fell  last  upon  Wickliffe. 

"  Pale-faces,  I  am  dying,"  he  said  slowly,  while  the  red 
tide  of  life  stained  his  lips.  "  The  voice  of  Monedo  calls  me 
hence.  I  do  not  fear  to  go,  for  there  is  no  place  on  earth 
where  the  Indian  can  r.est  in  peace.  The  pale-faces  have 
come  among  us  to  kill  and  destroy.  In  a  few  years  my  tribe 
will  be  swept  away,  and  their  names  will  be  forgotten.  I  do 
not  wish  to  see  that  time,  and  I  'm  glad  I  'm  going  the  long 
journey.  I  have  been  wronged  by  white  men ;  I  have  hated 
white  men ;  I  have  slain  white  men ;  and  now  I  die  by  the 
hand  of  a  white  man.  ?T  is  well.  I  have  always  expected  to 
die  so.  I  hate  you  all,  and  hope  you  may  n,ever  come  to  the 
happy  hunting-grounds,  because  you  would  drive  away  the 
'wild  Indians.'  You  think  red  men  are  brutes,  and  that 
they  know  nothing.  Your  people  have  hunted  them  as  they 
hunt  the  deer  and  the  buffalo,  and  have  killed  them  wherever 
they  could  lay  hands  upon  them.  You  think  they  have  no 
feeling,  and  can  die  without  pain.  You  think  it  does  not  hurt 
us  to  be  cold  and  naked,  and  to  wander  up  and  down  in  the 
mountains  without  food  and  shelter.  Perhaps  you  think  we 
are  never  hungry,  or  that  we  eat  each  other,  like  wolves.  You 
have  pursued  and  slain  my  people  when  they  were  naked  and 
cold  and  starving,  and  all  the  time  you  say  you  have  a  coun- 
try of  your  own.  I  hate  you  —  I  spit  upon  you  —  I  defy 
you  —  I  curse  you  with  my  last  breath !  Not  only  do  I  hate 
you,  but  him  who  employed  me  to  come  here  to  deceive  you. 
I  was  glad  that  you  pale-faces  were  eager  to  rend  and  do 
each  other  mischief." 

Here  the  voice  of  Ossawaun  grew  hoarse.  The  blood,  fast 
freezing  in  death,  trickled  from  his  nether  lip,  and  obstructed 
his  utterance.  He  shook  his  bloody  robe  at  Wickliffe,  and 
commenced  chanting  his  death-song  with  solemn  wildness.  It 
consisted  of  broken  and  disconnected  sentences,  strung  together 
with  startling  effect. 

"  The  spirits  of  my  fathers  call, 
And  I  must  depart.  • 

I  have  done  with  earth, 
And  the  darkness  is  falling  upon  me. 
Dusky  figures  go  dancing  before  my  eyes  ; 
They  are  the  shades  of  my  people, 
And  their  faces  shine  like  fire. 


140  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

The  breath  of  Mone'do  gives  them  life. 

They  shall  hear  my  baim-wa-wa.* 

I  see  the  birds  of  war,     „ 

And  I  hear  the  rush  of  wings. 

They  wheel  in  the  sky  ; 

I  hear  their  cries  ; 

And  they  near  me  in  fiery  circles. 

I  do  not  fear, 

For  my  soul  is  strong  : 

I  will  frighten  them  with  my  baim-wa-wa. 

I  have  not  run  from  the  foe. 

I  met  my  enemies,  and  they  died. 

They  could  not  stand  before  my  might; 

The  pale-faces  have  been  laid  low. 

They  tremble  at  my  baim-wa-wa. 

I  '11  teach  them  how  to  die  ;  , 

They  shall  see  a  warrior  pass, 

Nor  exult  in  my  agony. 

My  spirit  is  not  tamed. 

I  scorn  them  in  death, 

While  I  utter  my  baim-wa-wa. 

My  blood  is  oozing  away, 

My  eyesight  fails, 

My  heart  grows  cold  : 

My  soul  is  passing  ; 

The  hunting-grounds  are  near  ; 

0,  Minno  Monedo  !  I  come  !  I  come  ! 

And  my  baim-wa-wa  shall  be  heard  no  more." 

He  tore  the  drenched  robe  from  his  dark  breast.  The  last 
spark  of  life  gushed  out  in  a  jet  of  blood,  and  the  sound  of 
Ossawaun's  passing  thunders  were  heard  no  more  among  the 
hills. 

We  gazed  solemnly  at  the  grim  figure  as  it  straightened 
out  and  fixed  itself  in  death,  and  then,  throwing  the  robe  over 
the  stern  and  rigid  face,  left  it  alone. 


CHAPTER    XXI. 

BESIEGED. 

BRAVE  men  die  in  the  wilderness,  and  no  stone  marks  their 
place  of  rest.     The  birds  of  heaven  gorge  upon  their  bodies, 

*  Passing  thunder. 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  141 

or  the  wild  wolf  rends  them  joint  from  joint ;  but  among 
civilized  men  the  most  miserable  craven  may  have  a  marble 
column.  Th^  death  of  Ossawaun  put  us  in  a  reflective  train 
of  thought,  and  we  rode  on  in  silence.  Silver-Knife  was  the 
first  to  speak. 

"  What  will  my  white  brothers  do  now  ?  "  he  asked. 
We  looked  anxiously  at  each  other,  and  halted.  It  was  an 
important  question,  truly,  and  required  consideration.  That 
a  party  of  Crows  were  near,  led  on  by  Burrill,  there  could 
be  no  doubt.  That  their  numbers  exceeded  ours,  we  were 
equally  certain,  for  Silver-Knife  had  looked  into  their  encamp- 
ment. Having  dogged  our  footsteps  so  many  days,  we  could 
hardly  hope  to  evade  them.  It  was  therefore  proposed  and 
agreed  that  we  should  retrace  our  footsteps  to  our  last  night's 
encampment.  By  so  doing,  we  should  in  some  degree  per- 
plex our  enemies,  and  save  some  labor  in  felling  trees,  and 
constructing  a  new  camp  ;  beside,  we  wished  to  make  as  little 
noise  as  possible.  With  feelings  of  reluctance,  we  turned  our 
horses'  heads  to  return.  Fortunately,  we  had  left  the.  camp 
but  a  few  miles  behind  us.  Our  first  object  was  to  strengthen 
our  position  as  much  as  possible,  and  to  this  end  we  availed 
ourselves  of  every  auxiliary  within  our  reach.  Two  hours' 
labor  gave  it  quite  the  appearance  of  a 'fort,  and  it  was  dark 
before  we  had  completed  these  preparations.  It  was  the 
opinion  of  Sutler  and  Leroy,  as  well  as  of  the  chief,  that  no 
attack  would  be  made  that  night ;  and  the  sequel  proved  they 
were  right,  for  we  were  not  disturbed. 

Early  the  next  morning,  we  went  to  work  in  good  earnest. 
We  built  a  palisade  about  our  camp,  of  a  character  quite  firm 
and  substantial,  and  which  would  cost  the  most  agile  some 
pains  to  scale.  This  enclosure  was  made  large  enough  for 
our  horses.  We  felt  well  satisfied  with  our  work  when  com- 
pleted, and  flattered  ourselves  that  we  should  be  able  to 
withstand  a  long  siege,  providing  we  had  plenty  of  food  and 
ammunition.  The  latter  we  were  well  supplied  with,  and  in  the 
afternoon  Leroy  and  Sutler  went  out  to  hunt.  Soon  after 
they  had  gone,  an  Indian  was  seen  at  a  distance,  who  seemed 
reconiioitring  us.  Wickliife  examined  him  attentively  for  a 
few  minutes,  and  then  sent  forth  a  shrill  cry,  which  sounded 
like  a  war-whoop.  It  was  answered,  before  the  echoes  had 
died  away,  by  one  shriller  and  louder ;  and  then  he  who  had 


142  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

perpetrated  it  came  galloping  toward  us,  performing  a  hun- 
dred wild  feats  of  horsemanship.  He  attested  his  joy  at  seeing 
Wicklifle  in  many  extravagant  ways.  They  talked  earnestly 
together  for  a  long  time,  after  which,  the  savage  threw  him- 
self once  more  upon  his  horse,  and  scampered  away,  with  but 
little  regard  (I  thought)  for  his  neck.  People  know  nothing 
of  horsemanship  until  they  see  an  Indian  on  horseback. 
Some  of  their  feats  are  almost  incredible  to  the  dweller  in 
the  tents  of  civilization ;  so  much  so,  that  I  will  not  venture 
to  tell  them.  For  an  hour  after  the  departure  of  the  Indian, 
Wickliffe  appeared  in  deep  thought,  and  paced  about  our 
works  in  silence. 

At  times  he  was  unusually  agitated,  if  one  could  judge 
by  his  heaving  chest  and  compressed  lip.  Occasionally  he 
paused,  and  his  eyes  wandered  toward  Mary  and  Madeleine, 
and  from  them  to  me.  He  saddled  his  horse,  and  was  on  the 
point  of  mounting,  when  I  accosted  him. 

"  You  surely  do  not  intend  to  expose  yourself  and  us  to 
danger  by  wandering  about  at  this  hour,  under  present  cir- 
cumstances? " 

"  My  time  is  not  yet,  Ferguson,"  he  replied. 

"It  is  not  easy  to  tell  when  one's  time  has  come,  or,  more 
properly,  when  it  has  'gone ;  and  you  forget  that  your  move- 
ments may  endanger  us." 

I  said  this,  not  that  I  so  much  feared  the  danger  to  our- 
selves, as  the  risk  he  was  about  to  incur. 

"  I  will  not  endanger  you,  or  those  with  you,  Ferguson. 
But  I  must  go  forth,  and  alone." 

"  And  why  alone  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  best  thus.  I  am  not  a  vain,  proud,  or  boast- 
ful man ;  but  danger  cannot  keep  me  from  the  path  of  duty. 
I  have  never  heeded  it,  and  do  not  now.  Yet  I  despise  no 
precautions  which  experience  and  prudence  can  suggest.  He 
is  a  fool  who  neglects  to  provide  for  his  safety,  and  he  is  a 
greater  one  who  fears  after  having  done  all  that  wisdom  and 
skill  could  dictate.  As  I  came  to  you,  so  go  I  forth.  Was  I 
not  safe  before  I  saw  you  ?  Who  protected  me  then  ?  Was 
it  an  arm  of  flesh,  or  was  it  a  higher  power  ?  " 

"  You  believe,  then,  in  a  higher  power?  " 

"  Who  can  help  believing  ?  There  is  a  voice  in  nature 
which  talks  to  me  continually  of  a  God.  Everything  I  see, 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  143 

every  sound  I  hear,  repeats  the  story.  When  stretched  on 
the  prairie  at  night,  beneath  the  open  expanse,  I  have  been 
wakeful  to  watch  the  stars  and  the  moon,  and  the  great  ocean 
of  air,  on  purpose  to  feel  the  nearness  of  God,  and  to  com- 
mune with  him  through  his  works.  I  felt  and  feel  no  servile 
fear.  I  am  content  to  be  governed  by  one  who  is  higher 
than  I.  What  is  decreed  shall  come  to  pass,  and  no  earthly 
power  can  blot  out  one  sentence  of  what  is  written  by  Omnip- 
otence." 

"  I  am  not  a  fatalist,"  I  replied.  "  We  are  held  responsible 
for  our  acts.  Everything  has  its  price  and  penalty.  As  we 
sow,  so  also  shall  we  reap.  What  can  be  plainer  ?  What  figure 
could  teach  more  aptly  the  responsibility  of  man  ?  In  our 
conduct  there  should  always  be  an  adaptation  to  circum- 
stances. We  shun  the  fire  because  it  will  burn,  and  we  love 
the  air  because  it  is  the  element  of  life.  Carry  out  the  prin- 
ciple. When  you  would  cross  the  deep,  go  in  a  tight  ship, 
and  not  in  a  leaky  one ;  for  why  should  heaven  protect  you, 
when  you  scorn  to  protect  yourself?  why  should  you  not 
rather  be  punished  for  your  fool-hardiness  ?  If  a  dangerous 
serpent  is  in  your  path,  shun  it,  and  take  another ;  it  is  better 
to  turn  back  than  perish.  These  ravines,  and  mountains,  and 
prairies,  are  full  of  wild  men.  You  know  their  habits  :  shun 
them,  by  all  means,  as  much  as  it  is  in  your  power,  or  you  are 
criminal  in  the  sight  of  Heaven." 

"  What  you  have  said  is  both  true  and  false,"  he  returned. 
"  You  have  spoken  after  the  manner  of  the  few,  and  not  of 
the  many.  We  should  conform  our  conduct  to  circumstances, 
and  do  ;  but  God  makes  the  circumstances,  and  we  arrive  at 
the  same  results,  and  are  still  creatures  of  fate.  If  he  leads 
you  into  a  barbarous  country,  does  he  not  do  so  for  some 
object,  and  by  any  act  of  yours  can  you  baffle  him  in  that 
object  ?  I  trow  not.  We  are  as  clay  in  the  hands  of  the 
potter.  One  vessel  is  made  for  honor,  and  another  for  dis- 
honor. He  loved  Jacob,  and  hated  Esau,  before  they  had 
done  good  or  evil." 

"  Because  he  foreknew  one  would  be  a  good,  and  the  other 
a  bad  man,  even  if  placed  in  the  same  circumstances." 

"So  you  have  affirmed,  but  advanced  no  proof.  Your 
mere  assertion  avails  nothing.  - 1  might  also  affirm  that,  had 
it  not  been  for  those  springs  up  there  in  the  mountains,  there 


144  SILVER-KNIFE  I 

would  have  been  no  flood ;  but  who  woulcUbelieve  me  ?  and 
yet  one  half  of  the  world  reasons  thus.  Sonalf-mad  fanatics 
describe  all  the  horrors  within  the  boundaries  of  Hades,  and 
send  all  the  rest  of  the  world  to  perdition  with  headlong  haste  ; 
so  they  tell  the  population  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  its  circum- 
ference, the  length  and  breadth  of  its  walls,  and  what  the 
celestial  streets  are  paved  with ;  but  who  believes  them  ? 
None,  save  those  steeped  in  the  same  madness.  But  I  will 
cease  to  talk  of  this ;'  other  things  demand  my  thoughts.  The 
declining  sun  admonishes  me  to  be  away.  If  I  thought  we 
should  never  meet  again,  —  and  that  may  be  possible,  —  I  would 
say  a  word  to  you  ;  I  would  disclose  a  secret.  But  no  —  that 
impulse  is  past.  If  I  perish,  and  you  behold  my  face  no  more, 
forget  that  we  ever  met,  that  you  ever  heard  my  voice,  that 
you  ever  saw  my  face." 

"That  is  impossible!  "  I  exclaimed,  with  feeling.  "No  ! 
no  !  I  cannot  do  that,  but  almost  anything  else  you  oan  ask. 
Let  us  not  part  thus  in  mystery  !  Let  me  know  more  of  you. 
Tear  aside  the  curtain,  and  let  me  look  down  into  the  depths 
of  your  heart.  You  have  been  kind,  disinterested  and  noble. 
I  have  been  instinctively  attracted  toward  you.  I  have  felt 
safe  when  near  you,  and  happier  when  you  seemed  happy. 
You  have  preserved  my  life.  A  brother's  solicitude  could  not 
have  done  more.  Is  it  strange,  then,  that  I  feel  a  friendship 
for  you  ?  " 

"  Very  strange  !  "  replied  Wickliffe,  with  a  smile  in  which 
sadness  and  misanthropy  seemed  mingled.  "  Very  strange 
that  suc'i  a  thing  as  friendship  exists,  and  it  is  passing  strange 
it  should  be  found  in  the  wilderness.  Friendship  has 
been  to  me  a  word  without  meaning.  In  all  my  wander- 
ings upon  earth,  I  have  never  found  it.  I  am  one  whom  the 
world  has  neglected.  I  was  never  loved  and  caressed  ;  I  was 
never  humanized  by  a  mother's  soft  breath ;  I  was  never 
stimulated  to  exertion  by  a  father's  smiles.  I  grew  a  proud 
and  a  disdainful  boy.  I  threw  the  world  back  its  coldness  and 
neglect.  I  was  a  man  when  others  of  my  age  were  children  ; 
for  sometimes  hard  blows  bring  forth  the  hidden  fires  of  the  soul, 
as  flint  brings  it  from  the  stricken  steel.  I  was  proud,  a.hd 
sought  not  the  friendship  which  was  not  spontaneous.  1  did 
not  then,  and  I  do  not  now.  It  is  a  pleasing  delusion,  and  only 
that ;  but,  since  I  have  met  you,  I  have  wished  it  were  not  so." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  145 

"  You  are  proud,  Wickliffe  ?  " 

"  I  know  I  am,  and  glory  in  it.  Pride  is  a  man's  surest 
safeguard.  It  steels  his  heart  under  difficulties ;  it  gives  him 
dignity  in  prosperity,  and  courage  in  the  hour  of  danger.  I 
do  not  mean  arrogance ;  that  is  the  counterfeit  of  shallow 
heads,  and  not  the  genuine  article.  The  true  pride  of  man- 
hood never  burned  in  the  bosom  of  a  coxcomb." 

"  Well,  I  will  not  dispute  you  in  this,  for  it  may  be  so. 
When  shall  you  return  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  If  I  am  successful,  I  shall  see  you  again 
soon.  Do  not  think  I  am  abandoning  you  in  the  hour  of 
need ;  do  not  imagine  so,  for  a  moment.  My  mission  is  one 
of  danger,  but  I  hope  to  succeed.  If  I  fail,  it  is  well;  if  I 
return,  it  is  better.  You  will  not  probably  be  able  to  stir  from 
here  for  several  days.  If  you  do  not  see  me  within  forty- 
eight  hours,  believe  I  am  no  more.  You  have  good,  strong 
hearts  with  you,  and  can  stand  a  long  siege." 

"  But  will  you  not  bid  adieu  to  Mary  and  Madeleine,  before 
you  leave  us  ?  " 

"  No,  I  had  better  not ;  it  would  give  them  an  idea  of 
danger,  and  perhaps  make  them  uneasy  on  my  account." 

"  Do  you  not  think  there  is  one  heart  among  us  that  will 
sigh  for  you,  when  you  are  gone  ?  " 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?  "  he  asked,  with  a  start  of  surprise. 

"Yonder  gentle  girl,"  I  answered,  pointing  to  Mary. 

Wickliffe  changed  color,  and  bit  his  lips. 

"  Why  should  she  burden  her  thoughts  with  me  ?  Let  her 
not  think  of  me ;  but  to  say  that  is  a  waste  of  words  ;  prob- 
ably she  does  not,  more  than  of  Sutler,  or  that  proud  Indian 
chief.  Don't  wrong  one  so  young,  and  so  artless,  and  the 
sister  also  of  the  woman  you  adore.  I  am  not  the  man  to 
awaken  tender  emotions  in  her  heart." 

"  You  are  not  the  man,  Wickliffe,  to  be  slighted  by  woman, 
or  pass  her  by  unobserved.  Pardon  me,  for  I  do  not  wish  to 
natter  (that  is  a  meanness  I  never  stoop  to) ;  but  there  is 
something  in  your  bold  figure,  your  calm  countenance,  your 
lofty  and  perhaps  proud  expression,  that  is  calculated  to  com- 
mand the  attention  of  a  young  and  ardent  girl." 

"  Well,  suppose  it  be  so  ;  what,  then  ?  Do  you  imagine  it 
is  a  subject  of  self-gratulation  with  me  that  I  can  dazzle 
the  eyes  or  ensnare  the  affections  of  an  unsophisticated 
13 


146  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

young  girl  ?  If  you  do,  you  mistake  me.  The  gift  of  pleas- 
ing is  a  fearful  gift ;  I  have  it  not,  and  desire  it  not.  Woman- 
pleasers  are  vain,  and  I  despise  vanity,  for  it  does  not  be- 
come a  man.  Shame  upon  him  who  exults  in  the  conquest 
of  a  heart  that  can  never  be  his !  If  I  thought  that  pure 
young  creature  loved  me,  however  flattering  and  agreeable 
the  knowledge  might  be  to  my  heart,  I  might  be  tempted  to 
ride  away  into  the  wilds,  and  never  look  upon  her  sweet  face 
again.  She  is  hopeful  now;  but,  if  she  should  learn  to  love 
me,  it  might  be  otherwise.  Mine  is  a  dark  destiny,  for  I  was 
born  under  a  dark  planet ;  and  the  same  darkness  might  fall 
upon  her  path.  I  am  strong  within  myself.  I  can  exist 
without  being  loved ;  for  I  have  been  schooled  to  isolation, 
and  the  soul's  solitude,  from  childhood.  Yes,  I  have  learned 
to  be  self-reliant  and  self-sufficient.  The  outcast  naturally 
learns  that  lesson,  if  he  be  of  the  true  material ;  otherwise,  he 
sinks  under  the  bitterness  of  his  lot.  But  it  is  a  severe  and 
terrible  ordeal,  that  of  learning  to  live  within  one's  self,  and 
not  receive  one  single  sweet  pulsation  from  the  great  heart 
of  humanity  that  beats  without  and  around  him.  Yet  there 
is  something  of  pride  in  the  consciousness  that  one  can  exist 
alone,  and  turn  everything  to  his  own  use  and  comfort,  with 
his  own  unaided  hands.  There  is  something  sublime  in  the 
idea,  also,  when  you  lie  down  upon  the  boundless  prairies  at 
night  wrapped  in  your  blanket  (which  you  have  stripped  from 
the  body  of  some  wild  animal),  with  your  arms  beside  you, 
and  your  food  smoking  upon  the  fire,  that  you  are  master  of 
your  own  fortunes,  subject  to  no  command,  and  no  laws  but 
those  of  God.  One  lies  down  and  sleeps  well,  and  the  dangers 
of  that  kind  of  life  prevent  it  from  becoming  monotonous  and 
wearisome.  This  is  true  independence." 

"  Yes,  but  a  savage  independence,  Wicklifie.  What  would 
be  the  fate  of  mankind,  if  all  adopted  this  mode  of  exist- 
ence ?  Where  would  be  the  arts  and  sciences  ?  and  what 
would  be  the  destiny  of  woman  —  where  would  her  soft  influ- 
ence be  felt ;  where  would  she  shed  her  light  and  truth ; 
whose  heart  would  be  made  better  by  her  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  say  all  should  adopt  this  mode  of  life ;  all 
cannot  —  it  is  not  in  their  nature.  Let  each  one  follow  his 
own  inclination.  Let  those  to  the  desert  who  love  the  des- 
ert ;  those  to  the  city  who  love  the  city ;  those  to  the  arms 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  147 

of  woman  who  love  woman.  But  think  not  the  kind  of  inde- 
pendence I  have  mentioned  is  without  its  uses.  From  such 
spirits  we  get  our  first  knowledge  of  new  countries.  They 
pave  the  way  to  civilization,  and  pilot  us  to  new  regions,  and 
new  sources  of  wealth." 

"  Still,  I  believe  the  isolated  soul  must  turn  to  woman  for 
a  little  sunlight ;  and  so  you  will  turn  to  Mary." 
'  "True,  she  may  light  my  path  for  a  brief  season,  but 
nothing  more.  The  passing  gleam  will  fade,  as  the  '  Will-o'- 
the-wisp  '  sinks  down  and  disappears  in  the  ferny  ground, 
where  the  traveller  has  been  lured  to  step  aside.  I  have 
never  opened  my  heart,  and  laid  its  secrets  bare  to  mortal, 
nor  will  I  now  to  you.  I  am  not  so  weak  as  to  do  so.  I 
have  some  secrets,  and  I  will  keep  them ;  and  one  which 
would  make  your  cheek  pale  with  wonder.  If  I  see  you  no 
more,  it  will  perish  with  me.  Perhaps  I  have  not  received 
graciously  your  offers  of  friendship ;  but  I  am  your  friend, 
nevertheless.  For  the  present,  adieu.  Hare  no  care  for  my 
safety ;  imagine  that  nothing  can  harm  me,  and  that  deliv- 
erance from  present  peril  is  near." 

Wickliffe  shook  my  proffered  hand,  vaulted  into  the  saddle, 
and  rode  slowly  away. 

"  Our  meeting  was  strange,  and  strangely  we  part,"  I 
muttered  sadly,  as  I  watched  the  figure  of  my  friend  growing 
less  and  less  in  the  distance. 

I  was  awakened  from  my  revery  by  the  approach  of  the 
chief. 

"  The  Big  Heart  has  gone,"  he  said. 

I  nodded  assent. 

"  My  white  brother  fears  for  his  scalp  ?  " 

"  I  do,  my  friend,  and  I  should  be  unfeeling  not  to  do  so, 
when  he  has  dared  so  much  for  me." 

"  Let  not  my  brother  be  sad.  Great  Medicine  is  the  Big 
Heart.  Nothing  can  hurt  him  ;  he  bears  a  charmed  life." 

Leroy  and  Sutler  made  their  appearance.  They  had  been 
successful,  and  their  horses  were  laden  with  the  flesh  of  the 
buffalo,  although  they  had  ventured  but  a  short  distance  from 
camp. 

It  was  rather  unfortunate  that  they  were  obliged  to  dis- 
charge their  rifles,  on  account  of  the  proximity  of  the 


148  SILVER-KNIFE : 

enemy ;  but,  under  the  circumstances,  it  could  not  be  avoided, 
as  our  provisions  were  exhausted. 

"  I  reckon  as  how,  if  the  creturs  how  fight,  we  can  stand  a 
pretty  considerable  long  siege,"  observed  Leroy,  as  he  pro- 
ceeded to  unlade  his  beast. 

"  Them 's  my  feelin's,  and  I  don't  think  it 's  onreasonable 
to  kalkilate  that  some  o'  them  Philistians  will  lose  their 
fakilties." 

"  As  I  have  obsarved  afore,"  replied  Leroy,  "  there 's 
nothin'  like  the  eye.  It's  rayther  my  conviction  it  was 
made  on  purpose  to  shoot  at,  for  it 's  placed  in  a  conspic- 
erous  persition,  and  is  jest  about  the  size  of  a  Kentucky  tar- 
get. The  moral  effect  of  that  style  o'  killin'  is  perdigious ; 
for  it  scares  the  heathen  creturs  e'enamost  out  o'  their  skins." 

"  Yes,  that 's  rayther  a  harnsum  way  o'  doin'  the  thing ; 
but  every  one  must  have  his  own  pertickerler  mark,  or  we 
could  n't  tell  who  the  top-knots  belong  to.  I  do  the  con- 
sarned  varmin  right  through  the  root  o'  the  nose,  or,  as  the 
doctor  would  say,  the  nasil  orgin.  When  you  put  the  lead 
in  there,  you  may  be  sure  there  an't  no  great  waste  o'  pow- 
der and  ball.  I  'm  not  the  man  as  loves  to  boast  o'  his 
explites,  like  a  drunken  Mexican,  or  half-breed,  but  I  kalki- 
late there  would  n't  be  nothin'  onproper  in  say  in',  in  a  kind  o' 
modest  way,  that  I  have  seen  several  o'  .the  nateral  varmin 
o'  this  onhoppy  sile,  who  have  met  their  distin-y  in  that  kind 
o'  shape.  It  don't  give  the  missionaries  no  great  chance,  for 
they  're  out  o'  the  reach  o'  the  '  nurtur  and  aclmernition ' 
afore  they  have  time  to  kiss  the  cross,  and  say  anything 
pious-like." 

"  You  've  touched  on  a  subject  now  as  I  don't  want  to 
make  light  on.  There  can't  be  much  required  o'  the  creturs, 
because  the  means  o'  grace  has  been  denied  'em ;  and  the 
gospil  privileges  an't  very  extensive  arter  they  've  bin  shot 
in  the  eye.  They  would  n't  know  a  psalm-book  from  a  pack 
o'  keerds,  arter  old  Ironsides  has  looked  'em  in  the  face.  I 
don't  say  it 's  right  to  kill  Injins ;  I  don't  say  it  gives  me 
pleasure  to  kill  Injins ;  but  it 's  a  case  o'  necessity,  and  can't 
be  helped.  They  're  endowed  by  natur'  with  rovin'  dispersi- 
tions,  and  a  nateral  hankerin'  arter  human  blood,  which 
makes  'em  dangerous.  I  finishes  'em  as  the  surgeon  amper- 
tates  a  limb*,  because  it  must  be  done ;  and  he  takes  the  least 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  149 

of  the  two  evils.  *Prehaps  they  've  got  an  immortal  soul,  and 
prehaps  they  have  n't.  Most  of  'em,  in  my  opinidn,  an't  much 
better  nor  cattle.  It 's  hard  to  tell  what  civilization  might 
do  for  'em  —  but  I  don't  think  it  would  make  the  weight  of 
a  feather's  difference  in  their  habits  and  inclernations.  Cru- 
elty and  treachery  is  born  in  'em ;  and  what 's  bred  in  the 
bone  can't  be  got  out.  To  be  Christians,  their  whole  natur' 
must  be  changed  and  renervated.  Who  can  change  the  natur' 
of  an  Injin  ?  They  was  created  a  race  of  wild  creturs,  and  a 
race  of  wild  creturs  they  '11  remain.  'T  is  the  natur  of  the 
beast." 

The  night  drew  on,  and  we  disposed  ourselves  about  our 
little  fortification  as  we  thought  most  conducive  to  the  gen- 
eral safety.  The  females  were  required  to  stay  in  the  camp, 
where  the  shots  of  the  enemy  —  providing  we  were  attacked 
— •  could  not  reach  them.  The  name  of  Burrill  filled  them 
with  dread ;  they  knew  why  we  were  thus  dogged  from  place 
to  place,  and  trembled  for  the  result.  Madge  was  trusting 
and  hopeful  as  ever.  She  spoke  words  of  encouragement  to 
her  daughters,  as  on  another  occasion,  and  counselled  them  to 
be  strong. 

She  told  them  that  every  hair  of  their  heads  was  num- 
bered, and  not  one  could  fall  to  the  ground  without  the  per- 
mission of  their  Heavenly  Father.  Her  admonitions  did  not 
fall  upon  heedless  ears.  Both  Madeleine  and  Mary  treas- 
ured them  up,  and  manifested  a  degree  of  courage  and  cheer- 
fulness hardly  to  be  expected  under  the  circumstances.  I 
saw  Mary's  eyes  wandering  about  as  if  in  search  of  some  one. 

"  He  has  gone,"  I  said,  with  a  smile. 

The  poor  girl  blushed  till  her  cheeks  were  burning  red. 

"  Who  has  gone  ? "  she  asked,  in  a  voice  intended  to  be 
very  indifferent  and  commonplace,  but  really  very  tremulous 
and  agitated. 

"  Wickliffe,"  I  replied,  in  a  whisper. 

She  grew  very  pale,  and  asked, 

"  Where  ?  "  in  a  whisper  softer  than  I  could  command. 

The  cry  of  "  Injins  !  Injins  !  "  prevented  a  reply. 

"  Do  not  fear,"  I  said,  taking  a  hand  of  each  of  the  girls 
"  I  feel  a  good  assurance  of  success ;  you  shall  never  fall  into 
the  hands  of  Burrill,  while  a  man  of  us  is  alive  to  defend 
you." 

13* 


150  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

I  pressed  the  hand  of  Madeleine  to  my  lips ;  it  was  not 
withdrawn  —  it  did  not  shrink  and  tremble.  The  blush  that 
mantled  her  cheek  gave  place  to  a  smile  —  a  smile  that 
seemed  to  me  trusting  and  loving,  and  full  of  hope.  Mary 
looked  into  the  face  of  each,  and  smiled  also ;  but  her  smile 
was  sadder,  though  gentle  and  approving. 

When  I  left  them  to  take  my  place  at  the  palisade,  my 
heart  beat  hopefully,  and  my  arm,  I  imagined,  had  the 
strength  of  three.  The  night  had  just  set  in,  and  a  shadowy 
indistinctness  pervaded  everything.  Figures  could  be  seen 
in  the  distance  which  flitted  dreamily  like  objects  in  a  magic 
lantern.  Puffs  of  smoke  went  up  in  fantastic  wreaths,  and 
sharp  explosions  broke  upon  the  ear,  and  went  ringing  away 
in  echoes  amid  the  darkened  hills.  There  was  an  incessant 
pattering  upon  the  palisade  like  a  shower  of  hail,  and  shiv- 
ered splinters  of  wood  flew  about  us.  Cries  like  those  which 
the  famishing  wolf  utters  in  his  starving  throat,  came  tearing 
discordantly  through  the  air.  Within  the  palisade,  no  shot 
was  yet  fired.  Cool,  sagacious,  self-possessed  men  stood  un- 
moved, awaiting  their  time.  The  foe,  emboldened  by  our 
silence,  came  more  confidently  from  their  coverts,  fired,  and 
then  fell  back  precipitately. 

"  Let  the  creturs  have  it  all  their  own  way,"  said  Leroy, 
whose  grim  figure  had  been  motionless  for  the  last  half-hour. 
"  They  're  gettin'  bolder  and  bolder,  and  more  noisy,  jest  like 
a  parcel  of  onwhipped  boys.  Let  'em  waste  their  powder 
and  shot,  if  they  want  to ;  we  '11  teach  'em  the  valley  of  it 
soon.  They  may  yell  till  they  bust  their  confounded  conster- 
tutions,  but  who  's  afeared." 

"  If  them  an't  my  feelin's,  I  am  the  man  as  an't  got  no 
feelin's,"  replied  Sutler;  " that  is,  none  to  speak  on.  It's 
kinder  amusin'  like  to  see  'em  come  and  let  sliver  at  ran- 
derum,  and  then  run  back  agin  to  the  bush,  like  a  flock  of 
cowardly  wolves,  as  they  are.  Now,  if  I  was  a  chap  as  had  a 
boy  ten  years  old  as  would  conduct  in  that  onharmsum  and 
sneakin'  style,  I'd  thrash  him  till  he  couldn't  repeat  the 
Lord's  prayer  back'ards ;  consarn  me,  if  I  would  n't !  If  a 
feller's  goin'  to  fight,  let  him  fight,  and  not  make  a  mock  on 't. 
See  !  they  're  gettin'  obstroperlus.  What  a  chance  for  a  shot ! 
My  shootin'  iron  can't  scasly  contain  itself,  and  is  acterly 
eweafein'  with  impashunts." 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  151 

"  Not  yet  —  not  yet,"  said  the  guide.  "  Their  pluck  is  risin' 
fast.  They  begin  to  think  we  're  skeered  e'enamost  to  death, 
and  can't  pull  a  trigger  to  save  our  lives,  jest  for  their, 
shoutin',  and  yellin',  and  hubbub." 

"  Here  they  come,"  added  Suttler,  "  in  categorical  con- 
fusion and  kaotic  order.  Consarn  me,  if  that  crittur  an't 
comin'  clean  up.  If  he  don't  loose  his  fakilties,  my  name 
an't  Sutler." 

The  enemy  had  indeed  grown  daring,  and  one  of  them,  in 
.the  true  spirit  of  Indian  bravado,  had  ventured  almost  near 
enough  to  touch  the  palisade.  This  was  too  provoking  to 
bear  long,  and  my  own  rifle  felt  about  as  impatient  as  Sutler's. 
At'  a  short  distance  from  our  picket  stood  a  tall  'sycamore, 
some  of  the  branches  of  which  swayed  to  and  fro  over  our  heads. 
The  warrior  who  had  performed  the  piece  of  bravado  alluded 
to  now  determined  to  distinguish  himself  by  another,  more 
daring,  and  requiring  more  address,  and  which  consequently 
would  reflect  more  honor  upon  him.  This  feat  was  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  climbing  the  tall  sycamore,  and  looking 
down  into  our  camp,  to  learn  the  exact  position  of  affairs. 
He  approached  the  tree  in  a  creeping  posture,  while  the 
others  made  a  great  noise  in  another  quarter,  to  divert  our 
attention. 

"  Let  the  cretur  try  it,"  whispered  Leroy,  "  and  let  them 
other  creturs  scream  and  dance  about,  and  see  what  '11  come 
on  V 

The  Indian  reached  the  tree,  and  began  the  ascent  on  that 
side  furthest  from  us.  We  saw  his  red  hands  noiselessly  clasp 
the  trunk  and  put  forth  their  strength,  and  caught  occasional 
glimpses  of  the  moccasined  feet  as  they  fixed  themselves  upon 
the  surface  of  the  rough  bark,  and  assisted  to  urge  the  body 
upward  by  imperceptible  gradations.  First,  the  hands  per- 
formed their  part,  and  then  the  feet  took  their  place,  and  then 
the  former  glided  slowly  upward,  again  to  lift  the  other  por- 
tions. The  task  was  painfully  fatiguing,  and  reminded  me  of  a 
sailor  whom  I  once  saw  undertake  to  climb  a  greased  "  Liber- 
ty Pole."  Sometimes  the  climber  paused  through  sheer  ex- 
haustion, and  looked  back  as  an  inexperienced  cub  might  do 
during  his  initiation  in  the  sublime  science  of  climbing.  The 
affair  was  a  serious  one,  even  for  an  Indian ;  for  the  tree  was? 
without  limbs  for  a  great  number  of  feet.  , 


152  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  It 's  my  conviction,"  said  Sutler,  after  watching  his  move- 
ments in  philosophical  silence,  "that  that  critter  will  come 
down  without  his  fakilties — mem'ry  in  perticerler." 

"For  the  good  of  his  friends,  I  hope  the  heathen  has  made 
his  will,"  remarked  Leroy,  "  and  that  he  has  n't  neglected  none 
o'  the  means  of  grace ;  because  life  's  onsartin,  and  he  may  n't 
never  set  under  the  droppings  o'  the  sanctooary  no  more  in 
the  probationer  state." 

"  For  the  sake  o'  his  futur  prospects,  I  am  the  man  as  hopes 
he  's  been  an  exempler  Injin,  and  one  as  has  n't  set  his  heart 
too  much  on  sublunar  things.  Prehaps  as  how  he  has  laid  up 
his  treasures  above  —  and  is  goin'  up  arter  'em.  As  you  've 
obsarved,  life  's  a  ticklish  thing,  and  one  may  be  called  on  to 
stick  his  toes  up  sooner  nor  he  's  ready.  All  flesh  is  as  grass, 
and  nothin'  shorter.  It  grows  up  at  night,  and  is  cut  down 
and  dried  afore  mornin'.  Them  's  my  feelin's." 

"  I  hope  the  wretched  cretur  an'tgot  no  children,"  said  the 
guide,  musingly. 

"  I  responds  to  that  senterment,"  replied  Sutler,  "  because 
as  how  cubs  becomes  bars  arter  a  while  !  " 

"  I  don't  mean  that  altogether,  Sutler — not  that;  but  even 
them  Injin  creturs  may  have  some  feelin',  —  enough,  perhaps,  to 
feel  the  loss  of  a  father.  I  think  of  them  things,  because  I 
have  children  of  my  own." 

"  Don't  think  o'  sich  nons'ns',  old  feller,  they  an't  nothin' 
more  nor  young  catamounts  or  young  bars.  They  have  n't  no 
nateral  feelin' ;  it  an't  the  natur  o'  the  animal." 

"  Prehaps  it  an't ;  but  I  allers  think  of  sich  absurd  things 
at  perticerler  times  and  seasons ;  it 's  my  weakness.  But 
no  man  can  say  I  fight  less  bravely  for  it,  in  the  hour  of 
peril." 

During  this  time  the  savages  continued  to  fire  upon  our 
pickets  without  effect,  and  the  climber  to  ascend  with  breath- 
less caution,  where  a  squirrel  could  scarce  find  a  place  for  his  foot 
to  rest.  I  watched  his  progress  with  strange  interest,  and  asked 
myself,  with  a  shudder,  how  he  would  come  'down  !  After  in- 
finite labor,  and  when  I  thought  his  strength  must  foil,  he 
reached  the  first  limb,  and,  grasping  it  firmly,  drew  himself 
up,  and  seated  himself  upon  it.  The  rest  of  the  task  was 
comparatively  easy,  and,  with  the  same  cat-like  caution  that 
had  characterized  his  motions  from  the  first,  he  mounted  to 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  153 

the  more  elevated  branches,  and  was  actually  over  our  heads, 
and  peering  down  into  our  camp. 

"  That 's  a  nice  critter  for  ye  —  a  nice  critter ! "  whispered 
Sutler.  "  What  do  you  s'pose  the  missioners  could  do  for  him  ? 
He  han't  no  more  notion  o'  the  scripters  o'  dervine  truth  nor 
an  onborn  catamount,  nor  a  nigger ;  and  that 's  sayin'  a  good 
deal.  If  he  was  anythin'  like  a  human,  he  would  give  the 
rest  o'  his  minits  to  medertation  on  heavenler  and  dervine 
things,  and  not  bother  his  mind  about  tempera!  consarns.  I'm 
afeared  the  critter  's  carneller  minded." 

"  Well,  let  the  varmint  hang  there  for  a  season  like  a  pos- 
sum, while  we  speak  to  his  heathen  bretheren ;  they  're  gettin' 
a  leetle  to  fermiliar  to  be  agreeable  to  my  feelin's.  Old  Iron- 
sides can't  stand  it  no  longer.  The  dumb  thing  'II  go  off  it- 
self. The  powder  's  growin'  hot  in  the  pan,  as  true  as  I  'm  a 
Christian  cretur.  My  blood  begins  to  rile  up,  and  I  don't  keer 
a  gra'-deal  whether  that  anermal  over  our  heads  has  got  chil- 
dren or  not.  These  troublous  times  kinder  changes  a  man's 
natur,  and  make  him  feel  like  eatin'  somethin'  as  warn't  made 
to  eat.  I  can't  scasly  contain  myself.  Jest  look  at  that,  will 
ye  ?  An't  that  jest  a  few  more  drops  in  the  cup  of  our  indig- 
nerties  than  flesh  and  blood  can  bear  ?  Now 's  our  time  —  pick 
yer  marks,  and  pepper  'em  in  the  name  of  retributive  justice." 

The  usually  kind  expression  of  Leroy  had  vanished,  and 
the  fire  of  battle  taken  its  place.  Those  flashes  of  feeling 
which  distinguished  him  on  ordinary  occasions  were  no  longer 
apparent  in  word  or  gesture.  A  frown  fierce  and  stern  dark- 
ened his  visage,  and  the  soul  of  the  "  fighting  man  "  only  was 
revealed.  Our  silence  had  prompted  our  enemies  to  acts  of 
boldness  hardly  to  be  endured,  although  the  very  state  of 
things  which  we  wished  to  produce.  After  wasting  much 
powder  and  ball  upon  our  pickets,  they  probably  began  to  im- 
agine we  were  not  provided  with  ammunition.  This  was  a 
fatal  mistake,  as  they  soon  learned,  to  their  cost.  The  more 
daring  began  to  run  toward  our  palisade,  and  then  back  again, 
discharging  their  fire-arms,  and  yelling  horribly.  Seeing  no 
harm  came  of  it,  they  began  to  think  it  was  quite  the  thing ; 
and  so  rushed  up  in  a  body,  fired,  and  scampered  away.  This 
was  done  with  more  boldness,  inasmuch  as  the  climber  had 
succeeded  so  well. 

The  time  had  now  arrived  to  make  a  defensive  demonstra- 


154  SILVER-KNIFE : 

tion.  We  discharged  our  rifles  at  the  same  moment,  when 
the  enemy  were  nearest.  Before  they  had  regained  their  cov- 
ert, those  of  us  who  had  two  barrels  fired  those  also,  and  sev- 
eral pistol-shots  rattled  after  them.  To  say  that  the  Crow 
warriors  were  astonished  would  convey  but  an  imperfect  idea 
of  the  real  state  of  things ;  not  only  were  they  astonished, 
but  they  absolutely  howled  with  rage.  All  their  hopes  of  a 
bloodless  victory  were  at  an  end,  and  they  expressed  their  ex- 
cessive disappointment  thereat  in  true  savage  style.  Seven  of 
their  warriors  had  fallen,  which  was  rather  a  significant  fore- 
taste of  what  they  might  expect  from  us.  They  were  now  more 
cautious,  though  occasionally  one  exposed  himself  during  some 
savage  demonstration  of  anger ;  in  which  case,  a  cry,  a  leap 
upward,  announced  that  his  earthly  warfare  was  over.  Bur- 
rill  was  not  seen,  and  his  voice  was  not  heard ;  but  we  felt  well 
assured  that  he  was  observing  all  these  movements,  and  en- 
couraging his  red  allies.  Meantime  the  Indian  in  the  syca- 
more was  amusing  himself  by  looking  at  us.  I  regret  that  I 
am  not  able  to  inform  the  reader  in  relation  to  the  exact  state 
of  his  feelings  during  our  first  discharge ;  but  it  is  something 
utterly  out  of  my  power,  as  subsequent  events  prevented  him 
from  communicating  with  me  in  relation  to  that  interesting 
subject.  Whether  he  flattered  himself  that  he  was  unobserved, 
and  in  a  position  of  security,  or  whether  a  vague  apprehen- 
sion of  his  impending  fate  made  him  tremble,  I  am  unable  to 
tell.  Perhaps  the  angel  of  death  touched  him  with  his  wing 
as  he  flew  over,  and  he  heard  the  sound  of  his  pinions  in  the 
air.  Even  the  wild  man  has  something  human  in  him,  and 
the  shadow  of  darkness  may  have  fallen  upon  him  then. 

"The  cretur  has  rushed  upon  his  destiny,"  said  Leroy, 
"  and  I  s'pose  he  must  go  under." 

"As  the  parsons  say  about  asking  grace — '  it's  your  priv- 
erlegeS  old  feller,"  replied  Sutler.  "  He  's  a  vessel  o'  wrath, 
fitted  up  for  distraction ;  but  I  would  n't  advise  ye  to  shoot 
too  dead,  mind  ye  —  too  dead  !  you  understand  ?  " 

"Not  in  the  eye,  ha  ?  " 

"  In  course  not ;  but  make  an  example  on  him  to  the  rest 
o'  the  Phillistians.  It  may  prove  kind  o'  salutary,  and  pre- 
vent 'era  from  climbin'  trees,  and  puttin'  themselves  in  persi- 
tions  o'  clanger.  This  finishin'  'em  off  is  a  reg'lar  science,  and 
requires  a  heap  o'  study  and  practice.  Each  man  has  his  per- 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  155 

ticerler  fancy.  Some  shoot  in  the  eye;  others  prefer  the 
bridge  o'  the  nose ;  and  a  third  party  are  fond  o'  the  heart, 
stomach  and  lungs,  for  a  mark.  I  'm  not  a  notional  chap,  by 
no  means.  I  can  see  sunthin'  good  in  every  thin'  (except  in 
the  perverse  naturs  of  the  nateral  ryptiles  of  this  sile),  and 
I  'm  willin'  that  each  indervidooal  should  be  governed  accord- 
in'  to  the  dictates  of  his  conscience,  reservin'  to  myself  the 
same  priverlege.  When  I  fust  came  to  these  parts,  I  used 
to  finish  'em  off  on  the  disablin'  system. 

"  The  disablin'  system  is  where  you  knock  'em  off  their  nat- 
eral pins,  without  woundin'  any  o'  the  vital  orgins.  When  a 
ryptile  is  fairly  shot  through  both  his  nateral  legs,  he  is  jist 
as  good  as  dead,  and  you  don't  run  no  risk  in  countin'  his 
scalp,  unless  you  get  worsted  in  the  fight,  and  his  friends  car- 
ry him  away.  I've  done  it  many  a  time  when  I  warn't  in  no 
great  hurry,  and  beavers  were  gettin'  cunnin'  about  takin" 
trap.  Like  all  other  arts  and  sciences,  it  requires  practice, 
and  some  knowledge  of  the  anatermy  of  the  body  ;  because  as 
how  the  bones  must  be  broke  in*  order  to  carry  out  and  illus- 
trate the  beauty  o'  the  system.  The  advantages  o'  this  per- 
ticerler  fact^is  self-evident,  and  can  be  understood  by  the 
most  inexperenced  beginner.  If  no  bones  is  broke,  ten  to 
one  if  he  don't  run  away,  and  you  lose  a  good  charge  o'  pow- 
der and  ball,  without  promotin'  the  cause  o'  civilerzation  in 
the  least ;  but  when  the  nateral  pins  is  once  broke,  there  is 
nothin',  accordin'  to  the  laws  o'  philoserphy,  to  support  the 
anermal  corporation,  and,  in  complience  with  the  rules  and 
regerlations  of  gravertation,  it  sticks  to  the  sod ;  because  the 
nateral  constertootion  of  a  ryptile  is  in  the  legs." 

Leroy  threw  himself  back  upon  his  right  foot,  drew  up  his 
tall,  gaunt  figure,  and  brought  "  Old  Ironsides  "  slowly  to  his 
shoulder.  For  a  moment  he  stood  rooted  to  the  spot  like  a 
firm-fibred  tree  in  a  dead  calm,  when  not  a  leaf  stirs,  or 
a  twig  shivers  in  the  air ;  then  the  breech  of  the  rifle  dropped 
from  his  shoulder  and  fell  to  the  ground.  I  looked  up  at  the 
Indian.  His  eyes  were  starting  from  their  sockets,  as  if  the 
pains  of  death  had  already  seized  him. 

"  I  can't  say  it's  any  pleasure  to  me  to  finish  the  cretur," 
said  Leroy,  in  a  serious  tone  of  voice,  "especially  in  the  sort  o'  wdy 
you  speak  on.  If  the  wretched.heathen  was  where  he  could  have 
a  kinder  chance  for  his  life,  I  could  do  it  with  better  heart." 


156  SILVER-KNItfE  : 

"  It 's  my  conviction  he  would  n't  give  you  much  o'  a  chance, 
if  he  had  you  treed  like  a  bar,  or  a  'possum.  You  'd  lose 
your  fakilties  afore  you  had  time  to  say  '  Our  Father,'  and 
kinder  straighten  yerself  up  for  the  change." 

"  I  know  there  's  a  sprinklin'  o'  truth  in  what  you  affarm, 
to  speak  perlite,  like  the  doctor,  but  there 's  quite  a  difference  in 
our  persition  in  the  sight  o'  God.  I  've  had  the  ways  and  means 
(although  I  haven't  improved  'em,  more  's  the  pity),  of  becom- 
in'  a  good  man  and  that  cretur  an't.  Or,  in  other  words,  I  've 
been  exposed  to  the  gospil,  and  he  has  n't." 

"  That 's  all  very  well  in  its  way,  but  it 's  my  conviction 
that  you  might  expose  'em  to  the  means  o'  grace  for  years  to- 
gether, and  't  would  n't  have  no  more  affect  than  water  spilt  on 
the  ground.  Them  red-skins  are  the  swine  as  you  must  n't 
cast  your  pearls  afore.  " 

"  I  haven't  no  great  objections  to  finish  him  at  once,  but  I  'd  a 
Zee^erayther  you  'd  do  it,  if  it 's  necessary  to  make  an  exam- 
plar  o'  the  cretur,  and  work  him  off  kinder  graderal  like ;  not 
that  I  don't  appreciate  your*  kindness,  in  givin'  me  the  first 
preference,  mind  ye ;  but,  if  I  've  a  weakness,  it 's  the  eye  !  " 

"  The  eye 's  good,  'though  I  go  in  for  the  root  o' the  nose ; 
but  I  an't  the  chap  as  can't  be  magnanimus,  and  give  honor 
where  honor 's  due.  Though,  as  I  've  said,  I  prefer  the  bridge 
o'  the  nasil  or  gin,  I  can  do  plain  skootin.'  I  don't  feel  it  no 
disparigement  to  do  plain  skootin  '  —  as  shootin'  in  the  legs,  or 
arms,  or  in  the  lungs,  or  in  the  stomich,  and  other  parts  o' 
the  system.  So  I  don't  mind  accommerdatin'  ye,  notwith- 
standin'  the  onhappy  condition  o'  the  critter  in  relation  to  the 
futur  state,  the  means  o'  grace,  and  all  them  kind  o'  fixins. 
But  it 's  the  varmint 's  own  fault,  and  it 's  too  late  for  him  to 
git  posted  up  on  them  subjicks  now." 

The  heavy,  greasy  rifle  of  Sutler  came  smartly  to  his 
shoulder.  He  laid  his  cheek  lovingly  upon  the  breech,  as 
though  it  was  a  living  thing,  and  knew  and  understood  him. 
He  seemed  to  speak  to  it  with  his  eyes  as  they  ran  along  the 
bronze-colored  barrel ;  and  his  hands  appeared  to  caress  it  as 
they  carried  it  'toward  the  object.  The  attitude  of  an  old 
hunter  in  the  act  of  firing  is  a  study  in  itself.  In  shooting 
an  object  upon  the  ground,  the  left  foot  is  thrust  out,  the  knee 
slightly  flexed,  and  the  whole  body  thrown  forward.  In 
firing  into  a  tree,  the  attitude  is  different ;  the  body  is  thrown 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  157 

4 

back  ipon  the  right  foot,  while  the  right  knee  is  flexed,  and  . 
the  head  elevated,  rendering  the  chest  full  and  prominent, 
and  giving  the  left  side  to  the  object.  And  then,  in  this  de- 
fiant and  bold  position,  the  whole  figure  seems  suddenly  to 
freeze  or  turn  to  stone.  The  muscles  of  the  left  arm  and  leg 
are  drawn  tight  and  firm;  there  is  no  relaxation,  no  motion, 
no  trembling,  no  rebellion  of  nerve  or  eye ;  the  breathing  is 
suspended ;  the  chest  ceases  to  rise  and  fall ;  a  feather  would 
not  float  from  the  lips ;  an  eye  of  glass  would  move  and  ex- 
press as  much  life.  For  a  single  instant,  the  man  might  be 
stone  or  iron,  and  only  that.  Suddenly  there  is  an  explosive, 
ringing  sound,  which  echoes  through  the  woods  like  the  crack 
of  a  whip  ;  the  feet  are  no  longer  rooted  to  the  earth,  but  up- 
torn  on  the  instant ;  the  arms  are  no  longer  iron  arms,  but 
flesh  and  blood ;  the  body  is  no  longer  thrown  back,  but  be- 
comes erect ;  the  eye  is  no  longer  glassy  and  fixed,  but  flash- 
ing and  eager.  It  was  thus  with  Sutler  when  he  levelled  and 
fired  at  the  miserable  being  in  the  sycamore.  The  smoke 
curled  quickly  away.  The  luckless  Indian  was  still  upon  the 
limb,  but  no  cry  gave  sign  of  mortal  hurt.  I  heard  a  patter- 
ing sound  upon  the  withered  leaves  at  my  feet ;  it  was  blood, 
warm  from  the  veins  of  the  savage.  A  slight  breeze  blew 
misty  atoms  of  it  in  my  face,  and  it  had  already  the  clamminess 
of  death.  I  instinctively  recoiled,  and  brushed  it  away  with 
my  open  hand. 

"  He 's  got  it —  nothin'  but  plain  shootin'  though,  —  about 
half  an  inch  below  the  breast-bone  —  starnum,  as  the  doc- 
tor 'd  say,  "  said  Sutler,  turning  a  handful  of  powder  into  his 
rifle,  and  driving  a  ball  rapidly  after  it. 

"  Don't  offen  perpetrate  plain  shooting  'though  sometimes 
it  answers  better  nor  fancy  work.  It 's  my  conviction  he 's  got 
his  gruel.  Don  't  be  ticklish,  doctor ;  't  an't  no  worse  nor  buf- 
ferler  blood,  and  no  better  nor  any  wild  varmint's ;  if  't  was, 
I  'd  tell  yer  so.  I  an't  the  man  as  would  deceive  the  young. 
See !  the  critter 's  gettin'  narvous.  He  holds  on  to  that  limb 
as  if  he  never  expected  to  give  up  sublunar  things.  " 

I  glanced  again  at  the  Indian,  and  could  not  withdraw  my 

gaze.     He  was  growing  weaker  and  weaker  from  loss  of  blood, 

and  it  was  with  difficulty  he  could  keep  his  body  balanced 

upon  the  limb.     His  lower  extremities  had  already  slipped 

14 


158  SILVER-KNIFE  I 

from  their  former  resting-place.  His  chest  lay  upon,  the  frail 
tenure,  while  he  grasped  it  with  his  hands  to  maintain  his 
equilibrium.  The  strange  pattering  was  still  heard  upon  the 
withered  leaves  ;  but  the  drops  were  thicker  and  heavier,  and 
fell  at  longer  intervals,  with  a  deadly,  solemn  monotony; 
and,  in  proportion  as  the  drops  grew  thicker  and  heavier,  and 
less  frequent,  the  body  of  the  wretch  slipped  from  the  limb. 
The  shouting  and  firing  had  ceased  among  his  red  brethren  ; 
they  stood  awe-stricken  spectators  of  the  scene.  Occasional- 
ly, however,  a  smothered  cry  told  how  keenly  they  partici- 
pated in  the  misfortune  of  their  friend,  and  the  unusual  horror 
of  his  position.  Another  motion,  like  the  last  lurch  of  a 
sinking  ship;  and  the  Indian  hung  suspended  by  the  hands, 
and  the  hands  only,  seventy  feet  from  the  earth. 

"  It 's  almost  over  now,  "  remarked  Sutler.  "  It  can't  go 
on  much  longer ;  but  the  deluded  critter  is  terribly  attached 
to  sublunar  things.  " 

"  It  strikes  me  there 's  something  awful  in  it,"  replied  the 
guide.  "  Them  heathen  creturs  are  quiet  as  death.  I  thought 
there  warn't  nothin'  as  could  sober  'em  down.  Well,  I  don't 
wonder !  Jest  see  the  wretched  cretur  draw  himself  up  like 
an  eel,  when  you  're  skinin'  'im  alive.  He  wants  to  git  back 
agin  on  to  the  limb  ;  but  that 's  onpossible.  What  a  kind  o' 
shudderin'  went  over  him,  then." 

"  Spasms,  "  added  Sutler,  "  spasms  ;  nothin'  but  spasms. 
That  comes  o'  the  plain  shooti?i\  You  don't  see  no  such 
non'sins  in  the  bridge  o'  the  nose  system.  They  bounce  up 
like  a  ball,  and  lose  their  fakilties  without  a  murmur.  That 's 
my  kind." 

"  I  almost  pity  the  cretur,"  said  Leroy.  "  I  've  seen  a 
great  many  humans,  of  all  colors,  go  under  ;  but  I  never  saw 
one  finished  in  that  style  afore,  and  don't  wish  to  again. 
How  his  eyes  stare  out  of  his  head.  I  should  n't  wonder  if  I 
dreamed  of  'em  for  years  to  come." 

Although  the  spectacle  was  too  horrible  to  look  at,  I  could 
look  at  nothing  else.  The  wretched  creature  swung  to  and 
fro  in  the  air,  clinging  with  agonizing  tenacity  to  the  limb. 
It  was  his  last  frail  hold  of  life ;  no  wonder  he  clung  to  it : 
He  might  have  met  death  with  firmness  in  the  usual  manner, 
or  by  torture  among  his  enemies  ;  but  this  was  a  different  mat- 
ter. How  much  longer  this  state  things  would  have  lasted,  I 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  -     159 

know  not.  I  heard  the  voice  of  Madeleine,  as  we  sometimes 
hear  welcome  voices  awaking  us  from  a  dreadful  dream. 

She  threw  herself  at  her  father's  feet,  crying,  in  a  voice  of 
earnest  entreaty, 

"  Put  an  end  to  this  horrible  barbarity,  I  entreat  you !" 

"  The  eye,"  said  Sutler;  "  though  I  go  in  for  the 'bridge 
o'  the  nose  system." 

Quick  as  lightning  Leroy  brought  his  rifle  to  his  shoulder, 
and  fired.  An  instant  longer  the  body  quivered  in  the  air  ; 
then  one  hand  relaxed  its  hold,  the  body  trembled  a  second  by 
the  other,  and  there  was  a  dead  fall.  All  this  passed  before 
Madeleine  had  arisen  from  her  knees.  When  she  heard  the 
sound  which  told  that  the  tragedy  was  over,  she  flitted  back 
to  the  camp,  like  an  angel  of  mercy  as  she  was. 

"  Bless  the  gal,"  said  Leroy,  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  back 
of  his  powder-begrimed  hand.  "  Bless  the  gal !  Her  rough 
old  father  would  do  anything  for  her." 

The  body  had  fallen  upon  the  pickets,  and  was  impaled  up- 
on a  stick  which  chanced  to  be  higher  than  its  fellows.  The 
head  lay  toward  us,  and  the  light  of  the  moon  revealed  a 
wound  in  the  left  eye,  and  another  about  an  inch  below  the 
sternum. 

"  He  feels  just  as  well  now  as  if  he  'd  died  in  bed  with  his 
moccasins  off ;  or  as  he  had  n't  been  rubbed  out  by  the  plain 
shooting"  remarked  Sutler,  in  a  moralizing  way. 

The  trapper  pushed  the  body  from  the  picket,  and  I  felt 
relieved  when  the  distorted  visage  was  out  of  my  sight. 

The  Crows  appeared  disheartened.  They  withdrew,  and 
we  heard  no  more  from  them  that  night.  We  saw  several 
lurking  about,  the  next  day,  but  none  came  near  enough  for  a 
shot.  The  following  night  was  but  a  repetition  of  the  one 
that  preceded  it ;  but  it  was  a  fact  which  could  not  be  con- 
cealed, that  their  numbers  were  increasing,  and,  as  near  as  we 
could  judge,  amounted  to  a  round  hundred.  We  kept  them  at 
bay  as  best  we  could.  We  never  fired  at  random.  Whenev- 
er a  shot  was  heard  from  our  camp,  it  was  quite  certain  we 
had  one  enemy  less. 

My  journal  of  that  date  has  a  note  to  the  following  effect : 

"We  have  no  rest,  but  are  harassed  by  day  and  by  night  — 
regularly  besieged.  I  should  not  care  so  much  for  this,  were 
it  not  for  the  females.  The  prospect  of  another  captivity  to 


16C  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

them  is  anything  but  cheering.  I  cannot  endure  the  thought ; 
sooner  let  me  perish  in  their  defence.  Madeleine  again  in 
the  power  of  Burrill  ?  —  Never,  while  I  live !  But  where  is 
he  ?  He  does  well  to  keep  in  the  background.  He  knows 
the  power  of  our  rifles. 

"Our  food  is  failing — we  ate  our  last  morsel  to-day;  or, 
more  properly,  urged  the  females  to  do  so.  What  shall  we 
subsist  on  to-morrow  ?  Wickliffe  has  not  returned,  although 
the  period  when  he  expected  to  return  has  passed.  I 
feel  the  most  painful  apprehensions  in  regard  to  his 
fate.  He  bade  me  not  expect  him,  if  he  came  not  within  forty- 
eight  hours.  Inexplicable  man!  noble  friend!  Perhaps  he 
has  already  ceased  to  exist.  Even  amid  the  horrors  of  this 
hour,  I  give  a  tear  to  his  memory.  Mary  does  not  mention 
his  name.  She  trembles  and  turns  pale  when  she  hears  it 
spoken.  Poor  girl !  I  fear  she  will  see  the  beloved  object  no 
more.  .  .  .  Things  are  growing  worse  and  worse.  The 
most  dismal  prospect  is  before  us  —  starvation,  captivity,  and 
death,  at  last.  Madge  strengthens  her  daughters  with  pious 
exhortions ;  and  they,  in  their  turn,  strive  to  diffuse  a  general 
cheerfulness,  and  make  us  hope  against  hope.  They  do  not 
sink  down  in  despair ;  they  do  not  distress  us  by  useless  re- 
pinings.  To  look  upon  them,  no  person  would  suspect  that 
they  are  hungry  and  in  peril.  Their  conduct  is  heroic  —  an- 
gelic. Instead  of  being  obliged  to  comfort  them,  they  have 
proved  comforters  to  us.  What  a  strange  being  is  woman  ! 
We  know  not  her  worth  till  the  hour  of  adversity !  'T  is  then 
she  shows  her  strength,  and  sublimity  of  character.  I  have 
loved  Madeleine  hitherto  as  a  mortal.  I  now  adore  her  as 
something  more.  I  shall  scarcely  regret  to  lose  life  in 
her  defence.  Her  gentleness,  her  patience,  her  greatness  of 
mind,  subdue  and  amaze  me.  She  seems  to  rise  far  above 
me,  and  .the  distance  between  us  is  increasing.  I  am  not 
worthy  of  her,  and  dare  not  speak  of  love.  She  is  something 
spiritual,  exalted,  and  I  am  so  gross ! 

"  No  food  for  two  clays.  This  is  getting  horrible.  What 
will  be  the  end  ?  I  have  not  the  courage  to  think.  We 
want  sleep  also  — it  is  hard  to  live  without  sleep  ;  the  brain  gets 
so  confused. 

"  Our  enemies  are  as  malignant  as  incarnate  fiends.  We 
have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing,  however,  that  we  have 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  161 

thinned  off  their  numbers.  They  are  no  doubt  waiting  till  we  get 
weak  for  want  of  sustenance,  to  make  a  general  demonstra- 
tion upon  our  little  fort.  How  many  incongruous  ideas  go 
whirling  through  a  hungry  man's  brain.  He  thinks  of  every 
variety  of  food  he  ever  masticated,  and  there  is  scarcely  any- 
thing which  he  does  not  think  of.  '  Sleep  is  nourishing,' 
they  say,  and  I  wish  I  could  sleep.  But  it  is  out  of  the 
question ;  my  anxiety  for  Madeleine  would  keep  me  wakeful, 
if  the  hunger-pangs  were  'not  gnawing  at  my  vitals.  I  have 
fasted  longer  than  any  of  them ;  but  they  do  not  know  it. 
Could  I  swallow  a  mouthful  of  food,  when  one  dearer  than 
my  own  existence  might  want  it  ?  No  !  my  selfishness  does 
not  extend  so  far." 

As  the  reader  may  judge  by  the  above  extract,  the  sixth 
day  of  the  siege  found  us  in  a  melancholy  position,  Every 
hope  seemed  to  be  cut  off.  Even  the  stout  hearts  of  the 
trapper  and  hunter  were  appalled  at  the  dreary  prospect  be- 
fore us.  Basil  strove  to  imitate  the  stoicism  of  the  Indian  un- 
der difficulties,  and  succeeded  nobly.  But  where  was  the 
chief?  Did  his  sterling  qualities  shine  less  brightly?  No  ! 
the  soul  of  the  warrior  and  chieftain  beamed  forth  more  re- 
splendently,  as  our  sorrows  accumulated.  He  was  always  at 
the  post  of  danger,  and  his  vigilance  slumbered  not  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

His  step  was  not  less  proud  for  famine,  nor  his  bearing  less 
bold.  His  voice  and  his  shout  were  heard  where  the  peril 
was  most  imminent,  and  it  diffused  new  courage,  and  new  hope, 
when  hope  was  sinking. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  sixth  day,  I  was  alone  with  Mad- 
eleine. The  Crows  had  retired,  and  left  us  unmolested  for  an 
hour.  The  shouting  had  ceased,  although  at  intervals  a  strag- 
gling shot  went  whistling  over  our  heads,  or  lodged  in  the 
palisade.  It  was  a  moment  of  comparative  quiet.  Though 
we  were  famishing  and  dying,  the  sun  shone  brightly  that 
day  upon  mountain  and  prairie. 

We  heard  gentle  winds  whispering  among  the  trees,  and 
gentler  melodies  warbled  by  airy  singers.  To  us  these  were 
solemn  sounds,  although  they  still  retained  something  of  their 
former  sweetness.  We  could  not  help  thinking  that  sunshine, 
and  soft  winds,  and  mellow  songs,  would  soon  cease  to  be  fa- 
miliar to  eye  and  ear. 
14* 


SILVER-KNIFE  : 

I  took  Madeleine's  hand.  I  was  calm,  but  sad.  Perhaps 
ray  voice  shook  a  little  when  I  spoke,  and  my  eyes  had  an 
unnatural  wildness. 

"  Madeleine,"  I  said,  and  my  tones  made  her  tremble, 
"  Madeleine,  we  seem  to  be  Hearing  the  final  home  of  the 
weary  wanderer  upon  earth.  It  would  be  useless  to  attempt 
to  conceal  from  you  the  truth.  A  few  more  suns  without  re- 
lief, and  it  will  be  all  over.  Before  it  is  too  late,  I  will  speak 
to  you,  and  hope  to  give  no  offence.  Why  have  I  left  the 
scenes  familiar  to  my  childhood,  and  the  home  of  civilized 
man  ?  Why  have  I  been  a  pilgrim  in  the  wilderness  ?  Why 
have  I  encountered  danger  and  privation  with  alacrity  and 
cheerfulness  ?  I  answer  for  the  sake  of  Madeleine.  When 
have  I  been  happy  and  hopeful  ?  When  near  her,  and  only 
then.  When  have  I  been  wretched  and  despairing  ?  When 
she  was  away,  and  in  danger.  Madeleine  has  been  my  cloud 
to  direct  me  onward  in  my  pilgrimage  by  day,  and  my  pillar 
of  fire  to  illuminate  my  dreams  by  night.  But  I  have  been 
to  her  as  a  brother,  and  a  brother  only.  I  have  scorned  to 
take  undue  advantage  of  our  companionship  heretofore  ;  but 
now  I  say  for  the  first  time,  and  perhaps  the  last,  Madeleine, 
I  love  you" 

At  first  a  few  tears  trembled  on  the  dark  lashes  of  the 
maiden ;  but  as  I  proceeded,  she  wiped  them  away,  and  her 
face  beamed  like  an  angel's. 

"  If  we  were  not  in  danger,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
audible,  but  which  grew  firmer  as  she  went  on,  "  it  might  be 
unmaidenly  to  say  what  I  am  about  to  utter,  but,  as  it  is,  and 
as  we  are  about  to  die  (  unless  Heaven  sends  some  good  angel 
to  save  us )  —  it  would  ill  become  me  not  to  speak  the  truth. 
The  love  you  have  lavished  upon  the  unworthy  maiden,  Mad- 
eleine, is  returned;  she  has  confessed  it.  Under  ordinary 
circumstances,  she  never  would;  her  tongue  would  not  have 
courage  to  speak  the  words." 

I  drew  Madeleine  to  my  heart,  and  was  happy,  in  spite  of 
famine  and  starvation.  While  I  held  her  there,  and  wept 
over  her,  I  felt  a  hand  laid  gently  on  my  head.  I  looked  up, 
—  the  tall  figure  of  Leroy,  the  guide,  stood  beside  me.  Tears 
were  rolling  down  the  cheeks  be-grimed  with  powder  and 
smoke. 

"  God  bless  you,  doctor !  —  my  boy  —  my  son,  I  had  hoped 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  163 

to  live  to  see  this.  She  's  a  good  gal —  my  child  is  —  an  an- 
gel of  a  gal.  God  bless  her  heart!" 

The  good  old  man  joined  our  hands,  and  blessed  us  over 
and  over  again  ;  and  then  Madge,  Mary  and  Basil  embraced 
and  wept  over  us  like  children. 

"I  can't  stand  that,  nohow,"  said  Sutler  (who  had  looked 
in  upon  us ),  drawing  the  sleeve  of  his  greasy  hunting-shirt 
across  his  shaggy  lashes.  "If  the  doctor  hasn't  any  objec- 
tions, I  'd  like  to  kiss  that  angelic  critter  once." 

Madeleine  bounded  gracefully  to  the  side  of  the  old  trap- 
per, and,  taking  his  rough  hand,  offered  him  her  cheek 
He  gazed  at  her  a  moment  in  silence. 

"  I  can 't  do  it,"  said  he,  mournfully.  "I  've  been  a  man  o' 
blood,  and  I  won't  contamernate  your  young  cheek  with  my 
lips.  I  don't  deserve  to  kiss  your  hand  even,  but  I  will ;  and 
now  add,  my  God  bless  you  to  your  old  father's;  and,  if  ever 
we  should  live  to  get  out  o'  this,  I  hope  you  '11  think  o'  the 
sinful  old  man,  now  and  then,  in  your  prayers." 

"  You  're  a  kind,  good,  whole-souled  cretur,  "  said  Leroy, 
"  and  I  hope  you  '11  live  a  great  many  years  yet.  If  I  had  a 
hundred  gals,  you  might  kiss  'em  all,  in  welcome,  and  they 
wouldn't  be  none  the  worse  for 't.  But  bless  my  soul !  there  's 
Wickliffe!" 

All  eyes  were  turned  toward  the  camp-door ;  and  Wick- 
liffe stood  there,  with  his  arms  folded  upon  his  breast,  while 
traces  of  emotion  were  visible  upon  his  face. 

"  I  have  been  an  unobserved  witness  of  this  scene,"  he  said 
with  some  effort.  "I  wish  you  all  joy  and  happiness,  and,  if 
Heaven  rewards  the  virtuous  and  punishes  the  guilty,  you  will 
be  blessed  indeed." 

Madeleine  and  myself  were  the  first  to  spring  forward  and 
embrace  Wickliffe.  As  I  held  his  hand  in  mine,  I  whispered 
in  his  ear. 

"  You  love  Mary,  and  she  reciprocates  your  feelings.  Do 
not  let  your  pride  render  you  wretched  for  life." 

The  countenance  of  Wickliffe  relaxed,  and  he  returned  the 
warm  pressure  of  my  hand. 

"Do  you  love  her  ?  "  whispered  Madeleine. 

"More  than  that — since  you  ask  me  —  I  worship  her. 
Every  spot  is  sacred  to  me  where  she  has  been.  I  am  happy 
only  in  her  presence." 


164  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  Thank  God  !  Then  my  sister  will  not  be  wretched.  Give 
me  your  hand,  sir.  Mary,  why  do  you  not  greet  our  benefac- 
tor ?  For  shame,  girl !  Come  along !  " 

Mary  timidly  approached.  Madeleine  adroitly  placed  her 
hand  in  Wickl life's. 

"  What,  another  one !  "  exclaimed  the  guide. 

"Leroy,"  said  Wickliffe,  with  dignity,  "I  love  your  daugh- 
ter—  tenderly,  truly,  devotedly,  deeply  as  man  should  love 
confiding  woman ;  but,  if  it  is  not  agreeable  to  her  and  you,  I 
will  leave  you,  and  trouble  you  no  more." 

"  I  have  been  without  food  a  little  better  nor  two  days, 
and  I  feel  an  onpleasant  gnawin'  at  the  stomich,  but  I  was 
never  so  happy  afore  in  my  life,  except  when  Madge  said  yes. 
Bless  your  hearts,  the  old  man  could  n't  wish  for  nothin'  bet- 
ter." 

"  Them  's  my  feelin's,"  said  Sutler,  "  only  perhaps  I  could  n't 
get  'em  off  so  well." 

"  I  respond  to  it  all,  "  added  Basil,  "  though  an  indefinite 
quantity  of  buffalo-meat  would  n't  come  amiss  arter  you  all 
get  through.  I  feel  jest  about  as  holler  as  a  grave-yard." 

"I  give  you  a  mother's  blessing,"  said  Madge,  "and  a  moth- 
er's blessing  is  a  good  thing  to  start  with  in  life." 

"  Are  you  content  ?  "  whispered  Wickliffe  to  Mary. 

"Happy  /"  was  the  responce. 

"  Ferguson,  "  said  Wickliffe,  in  a  low  tone,  "  I  will  tell  you 
a  secret,  for  there  may  be  fighting  to  do  soon,  and  I  would 
not  have  it  perish  with  me,  if  I  should  fall.  Be  calm,  and  do 
not  discredit  what  I  am  about  to  say.  We  are  brothers ;  but 
your  mother  was  not  mine.  Neglected  and  disowned  by  him 
to  whom  I  owe  my  existence,  is  it  strange  that  when  I  grew 
to  manhood  I  should  seek  to  hide  myself  from  the  sententious 
world,  that  I  might  not  hear  its  sneering  voice  linking  my 
name  with  dishonor  ?  I  have  been  an  outcast  and  a  misan- 
thrope, for  my  parents  placed  an  ignoble  mark  upon  my 
mime  and  memory.  The  story  of  my  wanderings  is  long,  and 
t'll.s  is  nostime  to  relate  it;  but  at  some  future  time  you  shall 
know  more  of  the  life  of  Wickliffe,  the  hunter  of  the  llocky 
Mountains." 

My  heart  was  too  full  for  words ;  and  I  shed  tears  on  Wick- 
liife's  neck,  as  certain  people  wept  over  Paul,  once  on  a  time, 
many  years  ago. 


AN    AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  165 

"  Your  mother  sleeps  under  the  green  turf,  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  this  truth  cannot  grieve  her  now.  Do  you  wonder  I 
have  taken  an  interest  in  you  ?  I  recognized  the  lineaments 
of  my  father's  face  in  yours,  before  you  announced  your 
name.  I  had  certain  knowledge  that  danger  was  near  you, 
when  I  met  you  for  the  first  time ;  but  I  knew  not  its  precise 
character.  I  received  some  hints  from  an  Indian  whom  I  met, 
that  induced  me  to  warn  you  to  watchfulness.  I  have  friends 
among  certain  tribes.  I  went  to  rally  them  for  your  protec- 
tion, but  they  were  beyond  my  reach.  I  returned  to  you 
the  next  morning,  and  you  know  the  rest." 

I  lost  no  time  in  making  known  this  unexpected  discovery 
to  my  friends. 

"  Well,  you  do  look  alike;  that's  sartin,"  said  Leroy. 

"The  resemblance  struck  me  at  first  sight,"  rejoined 
Madge. 

"  I  can't  say  I  see  any  resemblance,"  added  Mary. 

"  I  suppose  you  think  the  elder  brother  the  best  looking," 
retorted  Madeleine. 

"Very  much  alike,"  said  Silver-Knife.  "The  pale 
medicine  man  has  the  same  curl  of  the  lip,  the  same  fire  in 
his  eye,  when  excited." 

"  And  some  of  the  same  pride  also,"  said  Mary. 

"  Pardon  me,  my  friends,  if  I  forgot  for  a  moment  that 
you  are  famishing,"  exclaimed  Wickliffe.  Stepping  to  the 
camp  door,  he  made  a  gesture  with  his  hand.  Immediately 
two  Indians  made  their  appearance,  bearing  an  abundance  of 
the  choicest  viands  the  wilderness  could  afford. 

We  all,  save  Basil,  made  a  simultaneous  movement  to  the 
door.  To  our  utter  amazement,  the  enclosure  was  full  of 
Biackfeet. 

"  These  are  my  friends,"  said  Wickliffe.  "  I  am  a  chief 
among  them,  of  some  importance.  Whatever  they  may  be  to 
others,  they  are  faithful  to  me." 

"  But  how  did  you  come  upon  us,  and  gain  admission  so 
silently  ?  " 

"  Basil  will  tell  you,"  he  replied.  "  He  admitted  us  with 
his  own  hand.  Don't  give  yourself  any  uneasiness ;  we  did 
not  find  you  sleeping,  or  off  your  guard;  but  you  recollect 
you  were  very  busy  about  that  time ;  "  and  Wickliffe  gave 
Madeleine  a  significant  glance. 


166  SILVER-KNIFE  : 

"  Very  oncommon  busy,"  rejoined  Basil,  who  at  that  mo- 
ment joined  us,  with  a  good-humored  grin. 

I  have  but  little  more  to  relate.  I  will  not  linger  over 
these  pages.  I  have  already  dwelt  longer  than  I  intended. 
Ending  a  tale  is  something  like  taking  leave  of  a  fellow- 
traveller  on  a  strange  road ;  we  part  with  him  expecting 
never  to  meet  again. 

Food  never  tasted  sweeter  than  it  did  that  night.  We 
satisfied  the  demands  of  our  starving  stomachs,  thanked  God, 
and  were  happy. 

Sutler  very  philosophically  observed  "  that  sublunar  things 
never  looked  brighter." 

Near  the  hour  of  midnight,  a  general  assault  was  made  by 
the  Crows.  For  the  first  time  during  the  siege,  the  voice  of 
Burrill  was  heard.  It  was  loud,  stormy,  terrible  as  ever,  and 
incited  the  savages  to  fight  with  desperate  valor.  They  at- 
tempted to  scale  our  pickets,  ignorant  of  the  reinforcement  we 
had  received.  We  repulsed  them  with  great  slaughter,  and 
not  only  repulsed,  but  pursued  them  to  their  covert.  I  caught 
sight  of  Burrill,  singled  him  out  —  pursued  him.  He  turned 
upon  me  like  a  tiger  at  bay ;  I  fired,  and  he  fell. 

"  You  have  triumphed  at  last,"  said  he,  in  a  feeble  voice. 
"  Triumphed  at  last ;  but  it  has  been  by  no  good  will  of  mine." 

"  Been  doin'  a  little  plain  shootin*,  have  n't  ye,  doctor  ?  " 
said  Sutler,  approaching,  with  an  unconcerned  look.  "  Well 
every  man  to  his  likin',  though  I  goes  in  for  the  bridge  o'  the 
nose  system,  notwithstandin'.  I  'm  happy  to  say  that  you  '11 
find  some  o'  the  nateral  varmin  o'  this  unhappy  sile  hereabouts 
who  are  moniments  o'  the  bridge  o'  the  nose  system." 

"  I  believe  I  'm  dying,"  said  Burrill,  lifting  himself  upon 
his  elbow,  and  staring  wildly  upon  him. 

"  And  it 's  my  humble  opinion  that  you  're  as  onprepared 
for  the  change  as  ever  a  critter  was,"  continued  Sutler,  ad- 
dressing himself  to  Burrill.  "There  's  no  use  in  cryin'  for 
what  can't  be  helped.  It 's  my  conviction  that  the  time 
has  come  when  you  must  go,  willin'  or  not  willin'.  You're 
wanted,  and  it 's  no  use  to  kick  back  on  the  rope.  If  you 
can  recollect  anything  kind  o' pious  like,  you  'd  better  say  it." 

The  dying  man  motioned  me  away  with  his  hand. 

"  He  don't  like  to  see  you,  doctor,  and  you  'd  better  keep 
out  o'  his  sight." 


AN   AUTOBIOGRAPHY.  167 

I  fell  back,  where  he  could  not  see  me. 

"  You  think  I  'm  going  ?  "  said  Burrill,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Them  's  my  feelin's,"  answered  the  trapper,  "  and  you  'd 
better  be  gettin'  ready.  The  plain  shootin'  has  done  your 
business." 

"  Can't  you  speak  a  word  for  me,  old  man  ?  " 

"I'm  a  sinful  man,  and  it's  my  convictions  my  words 
would  n't  prevail.  The  Master  o'  life,  as  the  Injins  call  him, 
is  pertickler  about  sich  things ;  but  then,  old  feller,  he 's  very 
marciful.  Try  and  think  o'  sumthin." 

An  expression  of  unutterable  horror  played  for  a  moment 
over  the  features  of  Burrill.  He  fell  back  upon  the  earth, 
straightened  out  his  limbs  convulsively,  and  died. 

I  was  sorry  that  I  had  dealt  the  wound  that  sped  him. 

We  journey  in  safety  to  the  land  of  the  Nez  Perces,  the 
Horeb  of  the  Leroys.  I  will  not  stop  to  tell  how  we  went  a 
great  distance  for  a  priest,  and  what  a  wedding  party  we  had, 
and  how  happy  every  one  was,  and  how  numbers  of  Indians 
danced,  and  how  some  of  them  got  rather  the  worse  for  strong 
water,  —  not  I.  I  '11  keep  it  all  to  myself,  as  well  as  the  fact 
of  Basil's  espousal  with  the  "Morning  Star,"  the  daughter 
of  our  old'  friend  Silver-Knife ;  neither  shall  I  make  known 
how  delighted  the  latter  was  at  having  Basil  for  a  son-in- 
law,  or  how  beautiful  the  bride  was.  I  am  very  close 
iind  particular  on  these  subjects,  because  a  great  deal  of 
scandal  often  comes  of  being  too  communicative. 

I  will  remark,  however,  that  I  thought  there  was  a  fair 
prospect  of  Sutler  and  the  "  Singing  Bird  "  getting  up  a  small 
match  on  their  own  private  account,  and,  if  you  can  make 
anything  of  it,  you  may. 

As  for  Madeleine  and  myself,  we  were  happy,  and  envied 
no  one,  not  even  Wickliffe  and  Mary,  and  their  cup  of  hap- 
piness was  on  the  eve  of  running  over.  *  *  * 

Our  lodge  was  reared  near  the  pleasant  hunting-grounds. 
The  Nez  Perces  are  our  friends.  The  cold  does  not  freeze  us 
in  winter,  nor  the  sun  scorch  us  in  summer.  When  we  are 
hungry,  the  wood  supplies  us  with  food.  When  we  are 
thirsty,  we  drink  from  the  running  streams.  Madeleine  is  all 
I  could  reasonably  hope  to  find  in  woman.  My  days  pass 
pleasantly  and  in  peace. 


168  SILVER-KNIFE. 

Silver-Knife  is  yet  hale  and  strong.  We  shall  miss  his 
pleasant  face  when  he  goes  to  the  happy  hunting-grounds. 

Sutler  still  "goes  in  "  for  the  "bridge  o'  the  nose  system," 
and  Leroy  talks  of  the  "  heathen  creturs."  There  is  no  great 
fear  that  either  will  lose  his  "  fakilties  "  very  soon.  So  far 
as  human  foresight  extends,  they  will  cling  to  "  sublunar 
things  "  for  many  a  long  day  to  come. 

Wickliffe,  the  hunter  of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  is  little 
changed,  and  that  change  is  for  the  better. 


CONCLUSION. 

It  is  summer.  The  snow  has  melted  from  the  valleys,  and 
the  air  is  vocal  with  the  song  of  birds.  The  green  grass  has 
sprung  up,  and  nods  softly  in  the  wind.  The  trees  put  forth 
their  leaves,  and  the  hill-sides  have  clothed  themselves  with 
verdure.  The  prairies  are  smiling  in  the  sun.  The  buffalo 
disports  in  the  pleasant  glades,  and  the  wild  deer  drinks  from 
the  meandering  streams.  Everything  is  redolent  of  life. 
There  is  a  hum  of  happiness  in  the  air,  and  a  flutter  of  joy 
amid  the  living  leaves.  The  breath  of  many  flowers  perfumes 
the  vast  parterre  of  nature. 

Harmony  prevails  in  the  wilderness,  and  the  quick  pulses 
of  Time  beat  happily.  The  voice  of  nature  and  the  voice  of 
Madeleine  woo  me  to  stay,  and  I  obey.  I  am  happy  when  I 
go  out,  happy  when  I  return,  and  content  always. 

(From  Madeleine's  memoranda.)  The  Jordan  is  past  —  my 
Horeb  v,ron  —  my  land  of  promise  gained.  Very  pleasant 
are  these  wilds.  Grateful  odors  are  wafted  from  the  prairies 
and  a  m  ;irmur  of  sweet  sounds  is  heard  in  the  forest.  The 
waving  branches,  the  swaying  reeds,  the  bending  grass,  the 
breathing  flowers,  the  babbling  streams,  the  glad  sunshine, 
and  the  soft  whisper  of  the  sweet  south-west,  bid  me  linger 
amid  these  scenes. 


btNtHAL  LIBHAHY  -  U.U.  BERKELEY 


BDDObSSSfl3 


JVJ81713 


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